


I'll Be Home for Christmas

by one_more_offbeat_anthem



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Advent Calendar, Bartender Dean Winchester, Christmas, Dean Winchester Has Self-Worth Issues, Established Castiel/Dean Winchester, Fluff, Mutual Pining, Writer Castiel (Supernatural)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-01
Updated: 2020-12-24
Packaged: 2021-03-10 06:22:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 24
Words: 23,509
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27819700
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/one_more_offbeat_anthem/pseuds/one_more_offbeat_anthem
Summary: Dean Winchester is happy with his life--until his boyfriend of five years, Castiel, better known as the fantasy writer C. Novak, reveals that he has a book tour scheduled from December first until Christmas Eve. To help Dean cope, Castiel makes him an Advent calendar full of their treasured memories together. Over the course of the month, miles apart from his boyfriend, Dean learns about himself, his world, and how special things really are.
Relationships: Castiel & Dean Winchester, Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 148
Kudos: 207
Collections: The Destiel Fan Survey Favs Collection





	1. December 1: Advent Calendar

**Author's Note:**

> hi-ho folks! this is another serial fic--if you read and enjoyed my fic [The Curious Case of Dean Winchester's Coffee](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26749015/chapters/65257162), then this might be just up your alley! I was inspired by [this prompt list](https://bend-me-shape-me.tumblr.com/post/635594995196461056/hello-everyone-a-couple-weeks-ago-i-had-the) I found on Tumblr :) 
> 
> this fic was posted "advent calendar" style, so a chapter a day from the first to the twenty-fourth of December 2020 :) 
> 
> (and if you wanna see more from me, you can find me on [my tumblr](https://one-more-offbeat-anthem.tumblr.com) :)

“I’ll be back before you know it.” 

Dean sighed and looked at his boyfriend Cas’s profile. Cas was washing his face in the miniscule bathroom of their apartment, filling the room with the citrusy scent of his facewash. He looked brilliant as ever--striking blue eyes, a mop of dark hair, smile lines already around his eyes (apparently thirty-one wasn’t too early for that). He also looked cozy, in his dark grey cable-knit sweater, and Dean wanted to just wrap him up and keep him at home.

But no--Cas was more well known as the author C. Novak, and he had a tour scheduled for now until Christmas Eve. Dean was stuck in Chicago, and he’d be bartending nearly every night until Cas came home. 

“Dean.” Cas turned to him, his smile soft and open, “I’m going to miss you too, more than anything. And for that reason…” Cas grabbed his hand and dragged him out of the bathroom towards their living room, “I made you something.”

Sitting on the coffee table was one of those cardboard Advent calendars that came with chocoalte--you could get ‘em at the grocery store. The little doors had obviously been tampered with and were now taped shut. Cas pressed Dean down onto their ugly green couch as he kept talking, “I left all the chocolate in, but I added a little something--a special memory for each day. You can think about them when you miss me.”

“And I can call you?” Dean asked, “And send you a thousand pictures of snow?”

“Of course. Do you like it?” Cas’s eyes were hopeful.

“I love it, babe. C’mere.” Dean pulled Cas closer for a kiss.

“I have to go to the airport, Dean.”

“I know.” Dean reluctantly let go.

\-----------------------------

At five pm, Dean reheated some spaghetti in the microwave--he had about an hour before work, and if he was late again, his boss, Ellen, was going to rip him a new one. As the microwave whirred, he grabbed Cas’s gift from the coffee table and brought it back to their apartment’s kitchen. He carefully pried off the first cardboard door and popped the piece of chocolate inside the calendar into his mouth before unfolding the paper with the first memory and reading it. 

_I got the idea to make this for you when we went to the grocery store last week and you pointed at the Advent calendars, joking about whether or not anyone observed the religious Advent anymore. It reminded me of the first, and only, time we ever tried to go to church with my family. It was during Advent, and since my family wasn’t being very...polite, you made a few inappropriate jokes in church--we got asked to leave. I was embarrassed, but you thought it was the funniest thing, and that made me smile. You always know how to make me smile--and while I’m gone, I can almost guarantee that thoughts of you are what will keep me smiling <3 _

Dean wasn’t gonna cry. It wasn’t what he did. But it wasn’t every day that your boyfriend was gone for weeks during the holidays. While he would bartend at a whole laundry list of parties, he would return every night to an empty bed, until Cas came home as promised. 

It wasn’t like he _couldn’t_ function without Cas--he had friends, after all--but Cas had a miraculous ability to make everything more fun. Even a short walk around the block could become magical when Cas was involved. Especially this time of year, when Chicago was covered in lights. 

Dean figured he’d have to find the magic on his own. 


	2. December 2: Childhood Memories

Dean woke up feeling  _ disgusting _ . 

Last night had been a bad one at the bar--a bachelorette party had been in full swing, and one of the girls threw a drink in Dean’s face. He’d been too tired to take a shower, and now he was regretting forgoing one.

Dean rolled out of bed--it was a lot emptier and colder without Cas there, which he tried not to think about. He didn’t want to seem like a big baby--the one time he had tried to talk to his younger brother, Sam, about how to deal with this, Sam had gone off on a story about when his wife Jess was gone for  _ one night  _ on a girl’s trip.

Yeah, Sam was useless.

Dean cranked the water in the shower as hot as it would go and chanced a look at his phone. He had a message from Cas-- _ good morning, sleepyhead! doing my first book signing of the tour today :) miss you <3 _

Dean texted back,  _ miss you more, loser <3  _ and then plunged himself into the steam and heat of the shower. 

When he finally felt like a real human being again, he headed to the kitchen, instinctively pulling out two mugs before remembering that Cas was seven states away. Dean looked down at Cas’s mug, which had bees painted on it, and sighed.

He and Cas had met on accident--Dean had been riding the subway, and Cas had tripped over Dean’s foot, breaking his nose. Dean had taken him to the hospital--and left with Cas’s number. 

That had been five years ago, and now Dean couldn’t imagine his life without Cas--slightly grumpy, incredibly snuggly, lover of nature documentaries and all members of the animal kingdom, drinker of tea, knitter, and, of course, writer. 

Cas was the author of a popular series of fantasy books. The first book,  _ Angel and Demon _ , had come out the year they met. Now, the series was on book three (with book four being written), and it was more popular than ever. Of course, no one (as far as they knew) had figured out that Castiel James and C. Novak were the same person--and Dean liked it that way, like Cas was his little secret. 

Dean glanced at the Advent calendar on the kitchen table, where he’d left it, and wondered what Cas would say about him eating chocolate before breakfast. 

_ Fuck it,  _ Dean thought, peeling back the second door as his coffee brewed. He bit down on the chocolate as he read. 

_ When I think of your childhood, the most prominent feature is your younger brother, Sam. Even though Sam lives six hours away, he visits a lot, and it’s always a great time. Whenever he’s here, the two of you rope me into watching a truly terrible movie from the eighties, the kind of stuff your parents liked. The most recent time, we watched  _ **_Summer School_ ** _ from 1986, and during the male strip club scene, Sam told a story about how, as a teenager, you two watched this movie with your parents and they had forgotten about that scene! Apparently you both turned into puddles of embarassment, but your dad thought it was hilarious. _

Dean grinned at the memory. He did recall Sam telling Cas that story, and then him shoving Sam and saying, “Don’t let Cas know I think dudes are hot!” without thinking first. Cas had nearly fallen off their couch from laughter, before replying, “It may have escaped your notice, Dean, but I  _ am  _ a dude.”

Dean glanced back down at his phone as he finished chewing the chocolate and contemplated whether to make scrambled eggs for breakfast. His lock screen background was a picture of Cas reading. He remembered taking that picture, and then stealing Cas’s book, running around the apartment until Cas pushed him onto the couch to take it from him. 

(Not a lot of reading happened after that.)


	3. December 3: Motel Rooms

Dean rolled over and smacked his phone until the alarm went off. Another late night at the bar, another sleepy morning. 

He peered at his phone blearily--he had a text from Cas that was just a string of all the different possible heart emojis, and then another one that was ten bee emojis. Jesus Christ. When Cas got home, the first thing Dean was doing was uninstalling his emoji keyboard.

(The second thing would be kissing him stupid.)

The other message on his phone was from his best friend Charlie. They had gone to college together, although Charlie was actually using her degree as a game developer--Dean had gone to all the trouble to get an education degree and then became a bartender. Sometimes it was amazing to him that his friends (and his brother), who were all successful geniuses, hung out with him. 

He shook the thought out of his head and read the message: _want to come over and watch star wars tomorrow? I know cas is out of town :(_

Charlie got it. She was a lesbian, and had coached Dean through his mid-sophomore-year sexuality crisis centered around, of all people, the president of Kappa Sigma fraternity, who was both unavailable and a massive jerk. The first time Dean had introduced her to Cas, she had pulled him aside and whispered, “ _Keep him.”_

Dean texted back, _sure, what time?_ and then got out of bed. He was too groggy to shower first, so he headed to the kitchen to make coffee. As he did, he grabbed the Advent calendar, deciding that maybe it could be his morning ritual, get his day started off right with a dose of Cas. Normally, this was when an even sleepier Cas (his boyfriend was _not_ a morning person) would be wrapping himself around Dean, nuzzling against Dean’s neck. Unfortunately, Cas was now in Arizona. 

_Three summers ago, you decided we should go on a roadtrip, classic Americana style--or so you called it. Just your 1967 Chevy Impala, a disgusting amount of Mountain Dew, Led Zeppelin, and the open road. And, of course, motels. Lots of motels. In between stops--the Grand Canyon, the Corvette Museum, the Clinton Presidential Library (I made you stop there--you pretended to hate it but I know you found it fascinating), the World’s Largest Ball of Twine--we would eat at diners and sleep in motels. They weren’t the nicest accomodations, but I loved them. Mostly, I loved you in them. You were right at home, doubling up thin comforters and jiggling broken faucets and drinking shitty coffee, and I began to see the motels as happy places, not broken ones. They were places where we watched terrible B movies, drank the cheapest beer the gas station sold, and laughed--a lot. It reminded me of why I fell in love with you. Without fail, you always know how to make me smile._

Dean _did_ remember that roadtrip--it was four weeks long, and it had been the time of their lives. He also remembered them having a lot of sex in those motels (the aforementioned showers with broken faucets were a popular place to get down and dirty), and being coerced into watching PBS nature documentaries. Not that it was a chore, because it was Cas.

Cas had also, in addition to the Advent calendar, insisted on decorating the apartment for the holidays before he left--he said he didn’t want Dean to “fester” in “loneliness.” What a charmer. 

Dean was secretly glad, though, that they had gone to the trouble of putting up the tree and then re-watching _Christmas Vacation_ for the twentieth time as soon as they’d gotten home from visiting Dean’s family for Thanksgiving. It made the apartment feel cozier, less empty. The tree wasn’t the only thing, though--they had snowman-themed hot pads and kitchen towels and even a welcome mat, because Cas was nothing if not incredibly kitschy.

*****

Later, after a busy day of doing mostly nothing, Dean was at the bar, working. He had this shift with his boss’s daughter. Jo was a real firecracker, and tonight was no exception. She shot a glare at Dean before putting a hand on one hip and asking, “What’s eating at you, Dean?”

“Nothing.” Dean poured another vodka on the rocks and pushed it across the bar, “I’ve never been better.”

“Right, right. Is that why you’ve been moping?”

Dean set down his rag that he’d been wiping off the bar with and turned to her, “Okay, fine. Cas is out of town until Christmas Eve, and I miss him.”

“Ah, the hyper-successful boyfriend.”

“Yes, I’m aware of his success.” Dean resumed wiping down the bar, and this time Jo took his rag from him.

“Dean,” she said, her voice softening, “You’re talented and valuable, too. You just have to start believing it.”

“How?” Dean muttered. 

“I mean, Cas must see something in you.” She poked his chest, “And I think he’s seeing you right.” 

“You’ve got me wrong, anyways,” Dean said, starting in on mixing a drink order--one of their seasonal cocktails, which involved a dubious amount of rum and was filed under _things Dean Winchester pretends to hate but actually loves._ ”I’m not jealous. I’m happy for him.”

“But unhappy for yourself?”

“Jo,” Dean advised, sliding the drink across the bar to its recipient, “Shut up.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't mean for this one to get a little bit sad and less squishy, but Dean Winchester is actually a sappy sonofabitch and you can tear that away from my cold, dead hands. <3


	4. December 4: Cooking and Baking

_ There is nothing that you love more than pie. _

Dean paused to laugh as he read the first line of today’s memory, rolling over on the couch. It was midday, and he was about to head over to Charlie’s apartment, but he had decided to read Cas’s memory-of-the-day--he’d completely skipped breakfast and slept in this morning. There hadn’t been any drinks thrown in his face or rowdy bachelorette parties last night at the bar, but there had been a girl who drank four spiked ciders over the course of the evening and then tried to hit on Dean. She’d been escorted out. (And a cab had been called. Dean hated getting hit on these days, even if that exact scenario had been his M.O. in college, but he didn’t want her to end up in a gutter somewhere.)

_ I’m not kidding--pie is your  _ **_thing_ ** **.** _ You’re good at baking it and even better at eating it. You technically don’t have a preference--you’ll inhale anything pie-shaped--but your favorite, really, is cherry pie. Which is why, the first year we were dating, I decided I would make you a cherry pie for your birthday. Had I ever made a pie before? No. But was I willing to try? Of course. _

Dean laughed again--he knew  _ exactly  _ where this story was going. 

_ I told you to come to my apartment at about six pm, sure that I would be finished baking by then. And I was--because I was busy clearing smoke out. I had burnt the pie and set off the fire alarm. As soon as you saw the charred pie tin that I had thrown in the sink, you started laughing--and then you kissed me. We ended up taking an impromptu trip to the grocery store and buying a frozen pie. That was also the first time you told me that you loved me. All because I burnt a pie (I’m kidding). Oh, and just in case you forgot: I love you, too. _

Dean was pretty sure that he could  _ never  _ forget that Cas loved him. Cas was the kind of person who was constantly showing love even if he wasn’t saying it aloud. Like with this calendar. And the cinnamon rolls he had made before he left for the tour that Dean had discovered in the back of the fridge this morning with a note that said  _ for dean...if you’re not dean why are you in our fridge? (unless you’re charlie) (hi charlie!)  _

God, Cas was a dork. 

Dean’s phone dinged with a message from Charlie herself:  _ are you too busy pining to be on time for our movie? _

_ sorry,  _ he texted back, rolling off of the couch. Ten minutes later, he was standing in front of Charlie’s apartment, clothed in (mostly) clean clothes. Charlie opened the door before he even had a chance to knock.

“Dean, you look like a wreck.”

“Wow, Charlie, nice to see you too.” Dean scowled at her, but then she punched him on the shoulder playfully and dragged him inside. 

“I thought  _ A New Hope  _ was a good one to do today--you could use the happy ending,” she said, starting to pop microwave popcorn (the good stuff--extra butter) for them. 

“Really? First Jo at work, and now you? I’m not on the verge of collapse just cuz Cas isn’t here.”

“You miss him, though.”

“Of course I miss him. He’s my boyfriend.”

Charlie shrugged. “Have you ever thought about…something more?”

“You mean marriage?” Dean shifted. “Yeah. I have. I dunno if he has, though.”

“Then ask him! How do you know that he’s not interested if you don’t ask? I mean, just have a conversation about it, get you guys on the same page.”

Dean sighed. “Can we just watch the movie now, Charlie?”

She complied, nodding for him to grab some beers out of the fridge. Charlie’s apartment was decorated for Christmas already, too, but all of the ornaments on the tree appeared to be from the various video games she had spent a vast majority of their friendship coercing Dean into playing. Not that he minded. 

When they were halfway through the movie, she nudged him and whispered, “If it’s because you think you’re not good enough for him...you’re wrong.”


	5. December 5: Christmas Carols

_ There are a few truths about Dean Winchester, and one of them is this: you are not a fan of Christmas carols. Well, I should be more specific: you  _ **_pretend_ ** _ not to be a fan of Christmas carols. The first holiday season after we moved in together, I slept in one morning-- _

Dean scoffed. Cas was the  _ champion  _ of sleeping in. One morning? More like every day.

(Of course, it helped if you were a self-employed writer and your boyfriend was a bartender who worked late and slept in, too.)

_ And I woke up to the sound of you singing “White Christmas.” I remember trying to walk as quietly as I could down the hallway so that I could watch you in our kitchen, dancing and singing as you made us coffee and pancakes. You turned around right as the song changed to Paul McCartney’s “Wonderful Christmastime.” Instead of turning the music off, you beckoned for me to come to you and we danced in the kitchen. It was a lot of fun. If anyone asked, of course, you’d say you hated those songs--but I know the truth. (Actually, as I write this, I’m listening to Elvis’s “Blue Christmas.”)  _

Dean sighed, slumping into one of the chairs at their kitchen table, trying to ignore the tears pricking at his eyes. That had been a really nice morning--he remembered it clearly because it was the first time that he had thought to himself,  _ I could have this forever. _

That was the problem. 

Strictly speaking, there was no problem. He and Cas hardly fought (when they did it was usually right after Cas had woken up and was pissy about everything before he had an IV of coffee) and here was  _ proof  _ that it was all alright. 

But Cas was Cas and Dean was  _ Dean.  _

He decided to take a ride.

Before he lived in Chicago, he would take Baby, his Impala, out for a drive, roaring through the countryside of his home state of Kansas with Led Zeppelin or Def Leppard or Loverboy or what have you blasting. Now, Baby sat at the bottom of their apartment complex’s parking garage. The last time he’d driven her was months before, when he’d gone home to visit his mom.

These days, Dean would get on the subway and ride it to the end of the line. He would leave his headphones in and listen to whatever music he wanted to, whatever fit his mood. So he put on his coat and trudged out--he had hours before work, and he could probably spend all day on the subway if he wanted. 

At first, he let his music cycle through a variety of Zeppelin songs he had (and if he listened to “Rain Song” six times in a row, who was gonna stop him? Who was gonna know?), but then he noticed a playlist he hadn’t listened to in ages-- _ Cas’s Top Tunes _ . Cas had sent it to him pretty early on in their relationship, after Dean had spent a full hour espousing the virtues of Jimmy Page. It was mostly Elton John songs. Dean grimaced slightly but put it on shuffle anyways. The first song to come up was “Step Into Christmas.” 

_ Welcome to my Christmas song _

_ I'd like to thank you for the year _

_ So I'm sending you this Christmas card _

_ To say it's nice to have you here _

_ I'd like to sing about all the things _

_ Your eyes and mind can see _

_ So hop aboard the turntable _

_ Oh step into Christmas with me _

A guy dressed as Santa caught Dean’s eye on the subway and waved. Dean waved back, and then turned the volume up. 

_ Step into Christmas _

_ Let's join together _

_ We can watch the snow fall forever and ever _

_ Eat, drink and be merry _

_ Come along with me _

_ Step into Christmas _

_ The admission's free _


	6. December 6: Christmas Curse

_ Hallmark movies always have a happy ending. The girl’s father miraculously recovers from his illness, the long-lost lovers find each other in a snowy town decorated with twinkle lights, and the hot chocolate is always perfect. The year your father died, none of that was true.  _

Dean briefly contemplated just folding this memory back up, stowing it away so he didn’t have to look at it. But Cas had written it for him, so it must have a purpose. 

_ What do I remember? Probably something completely different from what you remember. I remember shitty Christmas Day turkey and dressing in the hospital cafeteria. I remember making hot chocolate from packets in a motel room, and you dumping bourbon in it (it was gross. Like, really gross). I remember alternate times of arguing and crying. Watching re-runs of  _ **_Cheers_ ** _ while you hoped for good news--but what, exactly, was good news when it came to John Winchester?  _

_ He died on the twenty-seventh of December, a week after the drunken car crash that had put him in the hospital. There wasn’t much to do afterwards--he didn’t have a lot of stuff, and your parents had been divorced for ten years. The next year, I expected Christmas to be a pretty rough time. But you were determined to have fun. We went to Kansas to see your mom and Sam and Jess and everything, drank eggnog and watched a ton of the aforementioned Hallmark movies--you and Sam even invented a drinking game to go along with it.  _

_ But on Christmas Eve, when we were in the guest bed, you started to cry. You asked me not to tell anyone that you were actually pretty sad that you were going to miss a crappy dinner at Ruby Tuesdays with your dad, where he would drink too much and make crass jokes. I think it wasn’t who your dad was--because he wasn’t always that good of a person. I think it’s just that he was gone. You were alright later. I think you just needed to get it out. You can get it out, you know. Whatever you feel. What are you feeling right now? _

Dean balled up the paper and slumped back onto the couch. Cas remembered all of this pretty much the way Dean did, except Dean remembered other stuff, too--forcing himself to smile so much that his cheeks hurt, goading the whole family to go to a Bob Evans and eat smiley fries, listening to anything but Zeppelin on the eventual drive back to Chicago, Cas playing checkers with his mom in the hospital, Jess taking Sam back to their motel room to make him sleep and Sam coming back to the hospital less than an hour later because he couldn’t.

Dean also remembered that the week his dad died was the first time his family had felt complete in a while. Sammy, Jess, Mom, Cas, and even Dad, in the hospital bed...family. 

He fished his phone out of his pocket and dialed Cas’s number. Cas had sent him his itinerary, and sure, he could have checked it to make sure Cas wasn’t in a signing, but it was noon where Cas was, so maybe he was at lunch.

Dean’s guess turned out to be correct.

“Hey, Dean,” Cas answered, “What’s wrong?”

“Why does something have to be wrong for me to call?” Dean asked. 

“It’s December sixth.” 

“Right.” Figured that Cas would remember what memory he had put in each day. 

“How are you, Dean?” Cas asked, his usually gravelly voice dipping lower than usual, “Honestly?”

“Kinda,” Dean let out a nervous laugh, “Kinda feeling like I just got punched in the gut.” Around him, the living room was dark--the sun set at four thirty in the afternoon these days. The twinkle lights on their Christmas tree flickered. Dean imagined Cas in some chain restaurant, surrounded by Christmas music coming out of tinny speakers. Or maybe he’d stepped out to take the call. Or gotten take-out.

“I’m sorry.”

“Nothin’ to be sorry for, sweetheart.” Dean wished he could reach out, brush his fingers along Cas’s jaw and then pull him in. 

“The memory made you feel that way, though.”

“It was already my memory, Cas. You just reminded me of it.” Dean paused. “Tell me about the tour.”

He closed his eyes, let Cas’s voice surround him, and started to feel warmth seep over the cold. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for the sadboy hours today--I promise things pick up! dean's just being an introspective lad.


	7. December 7: Phone Calls and Late Night Texts

_ By this point, you probably already know that I miss you, because we’ve definitely talked on the phone at least once. I kinda hate talking on the phone, unless it’s you. But you already know that, too. _

Dean smiled at the memory of their phone call last afternoon. Dean had accidentally dozed off to the sound of Cas’s voice, and woken up from his nap fifteen minutes later to Cas whispering about the kind of tacos they had in Dallas, Texas, where he was right now.  _ You’re coming with me next time,  _ Cas had said,  _ you would have a field day.  _

_ This isn’t the first time I’ve gone on tour, either--but you know that. You know a lot of things. I mean, this is a calendar about  _ **_us_ ** _ , so...But to today’s memory. The last time I went on tour, it was “only” for two weeks, but most of it was in California. One night, when I was in Los Angeles, I was invited to a party. It was at some nightclub--I hate nightclubs--and my agent said it would be “fun.” She was wrong. I had a panic attack almost as soon as I got there, and someone helped me out of the club but then just...dumped me on the curb. So I called you. You were thousands of miles away, but as soon as I heard your voice, I didn’t feel alone anymore.  _

Okay, what the fuck. 

Dean felt his eyes tearing up, and dammit, he wasn’t going to cry, except--except he was. He was going to straight-up start bawling, alone on his couch, with  _ It’s a Wonderful Life  _ on in the background and the twinkle lights on the tree, well, twinkling, and Cas  _ thousands of goddamn miles away _ .

Cas’s Christmas present was sitting on the coffee table, along with half a dozen unwashed coffee mugs, waiting to be wrapped. It was a “knit a stuffed penguin” kit, because Cas was one of those people who could simultaneously be  _ hot as hell _ and adorable. Dean’s tears turned to a grin as he thought about Cas--tall, deep voice, dark hair,  _ cheekbones, god those cheekbones,  _ the bluest eyes anyone had ever seen, and those hands…

Well, what those hands could do was strictly Dean’s business, wasn’t it?

Despite looking like, well, what he looked like, Cas was also insanely cute. He loved to knit, drink tea and fancy coffees, do yoga, and was usually wearing  _ cardigans.  _

(And Dean? Dean was 150% in love.)

Which made all of this terrifying.

There was no doubt in Dean’s mind that Cas loved him, and that was a great comfort. But there was the fact that Cas was  _ Cas,  _ on a book tour (granted, people only called him  _ Mr. Novak  _ on the tour-- _ Novak  _ was really Cas’s middle name), while Dean was now sitting cross-legged on the living room floor with wrapping paper, tape, scissors, and a beer. Cas wasn’t going to be home for seventeen more days, but Dean needed something, anything to do. 

Just then, his phone rang. Dean’s heart leapt, half-hoping it was Cas, but it was his younger brother, Sam. 

“Hey, Sammy,” Dean said, putting it on speakerphone, “What’s up?”

“Just checking in. How are things in Chicago?”

Dean shrugged, even though Sam couldn’t see them, “They’ve been worse. How’s Baltimore?”

“Cold.” 

“Fascinating, Sammy, really.”

“How are you, Dean? Tell me the truth.” Sam was adopting his lawyer voice.

“I’m fine.”

“You said things ‘could be worse.’ What are you doing right now?”

“...Wrapping Cas’s Christmas present. And sitting on the floor drinking a beer.”

“It’s four in the afternoon!”

“So?” Dean took a swig of his beer, “I work at six, I’m only drinking one, and I take the subway to the bar.”

“But you’re  _ on the floor _ .”

“Sam, I am  _ okay _ .”

Sam let out a long sigh, “Dean. Are you sure you don’t want Jess and I to come visit?”

“I’m positive. Cas’ll be back on Christmas Eve, and I have friends. Charlie and I hung out a few days ago. It’s good. It’s better than good.” 

“You just haven’t seemed well lately.”

“Sam, I swear to God...if you start psychoanalyzing me, I’ll hang up.”

“Look, Dean,” Sam was pacing, Dean could tell, “You should...think about going back to school. Get that master’s degree you always dreamed of, so you can teach what you  _ really  _ want instead of high school English.”   


“Well, I’m not much of a teacher now, am I?” Dean tried to keep the bitterness out of his voice, but he remembered what it had been like when he  _ had  _ been a high school English teacher, the different holiday poem projects he’d had his students do this time of year, how they would decorate the classroom…

“I know it hurt to have to leave after Dad died. But you did the right thing, Dean, standing up for yourself. Now do it again. Seize your future! You know that Jess and I, and Cas, and everyone else, would be with you every step of the way.”

“I know.” Dean swallowed. 

“Just think about it, okay?” 

“Sure, Sammy.”

“I’ll call again soon, alright? Love you.”

“Love you too.” Dean ended the call and leaned back against the bottom of the couch. This wasn’t the first time this year Sam had brought up going to grad school, so that  _ maybe  _ Dean could get a degree that would allow him to teach special ed. He’d discovered his love for it  _ after  _ he’d become an English teacher, and then he left his teaching job after the school didn’t provide adequate resources following his dad’s death. Cas had watered the experience down in his memory--it had hit Dean, hard. He was sad about losing John, but simultaneously angry that he had never gotten to call his father out on how bad of a job he’d done. 

And then he took up bartending. 

Dean picked up today’s memory off of the coffee table and reread the last line.

_ So I called you. You were thousands of miles away, but as soon as I heard your voice, I didn’t feel alone anymore. _

Dean actually checked Cas’s schedule, and when it was full, he sent a text.  _ can we talk later? nothing’s wrong, i just miss you. _

*****

“Hey, honey,” Cas said into the phone. He sounded tired, but it was barely midnight where he was. Dean had just gotten off work at the bar and it was pushing two am in Chicago.

“Hey yourself. How’s the tour?”

“It’s good, really good. Maybe we should do another road trip, see some of the stuff I’ve seen. How’s Chicago?”

“Beautiful. Freezing. I’ll have to make you this seasonal drink we’ve been making at the bar...it’s got enough rum to kill a man, but it’s worth it.”

“Are you alright?” Cas asked after a brief pause, “Did you have a bad day?”

“It wasn’t the best. But...as soon as I heard your voice, I didn’t feel alone anymore.”

“I love you, you know that?” Cas’s smile was audible. 

“You’ll never let me forget it.” 

Wrapped in the snowflake-patterned flannel sheets that Cas insisted on every winter, with the lights of nighttime Chicago seeping in through the gap in the curtains, and Cas telling him about an art museum he’d discovered yesterday morning when he’d had some free time, Dean felt like maybe things would be alright. 


	8. December 8: There is no need for mistletoe...

Despite the sheer number of Christmas decorations that Cas had put up in their apartment--the tree, the snowflake sheets, the Christmassy hot pads and dish towels, the window clings of snowmen on their bathroom window, a red-and-green afghan on the couch…there was one that Dean had put himself, and  _ that  _ was the mistletoe in their entryway.

(Not that he needed an excuse to kiss Cas, but it was nice to have insurance.)

Right now, though, every time Dean saw the mistletoe, like he currently could from his spot at the kitchen table with a steadily-cooling cup of coffee, he felt a little sad, because he couldn’t kiss Cas anywhere. At least he had this Advent calendar, a quasi-Cas for his troubles. Dean popped out the little cardboard window for today on the calendar, shoving the chocolate into his mouth as he unfolded the memory. A healthy breakfast--coffee, chocolate, and a note from his boyfriend. 

_ Back before we both became semi-recluses, we were the kind of people who went to parties--and one time, even (okay, several times) we went to a Christmas party. It was at our friend Anna’s house--do you remember Anna Milton? She lives in San Diego now. I haven’t heard from her in at least a year, though. Anyways, Anna, as you know, had a bit of a reputation as a party girl, and her Christmas parties were no exception.  _

Dean laughed and took another sip of his coffee. Anna was known for her parties, all right. She was also known for propositioning Dean right in front of Cas…repeatedly. It would have been funny, if it weren’t for the whole “Dean was  _ never  _ interested” and “it had been  _ once  _ in college, as part of Dean’s sexuality crisis, why wouldn’t she let that go?”

_ She was a big fan of the mistletoe and would hang it up over every doorway in her apartment before a party. You were a big fan of kissing me at every mistletoe, if you could (probably halfway to annoy her. I think it worked). But you know the truth--there’s never any need for mistletoe when you’re around. If I could kiss you right now, I would.  _

“Dammit, Cas,” Dean muttered, “You’re not  _ here _ .”

Dean recalled a memory of his own--once, when Sam was still in law school, before he and Jess moved to Baltimore so they were still in California, Dean had gone to visit them, and when he and Cas had been on the phone, Cas had said, “I guess we have a lot of catching up to do when you get back” after Dean had said he missed kissing him. 

Yeah, that was the case this time too.

Dean puttered through the rest of his day--going to the laundromat because their building didn’t have laundry, eating lunch at the greasy diner next door to the laundromat as a treat, buying a six-pack of Coors from the convenience store because he was out of beer, binge watching some  _ CSI: Miami  _ while he did the dishes, and then, finally, work. 

Things were usually pretty hopping at the bar when Dean got in at six pm every night, and tonight was no exception. He was on shift with one of the newbies, a college student named Kevin who was a whiz at math but a klutz at cocktails. Between customers and drink orders, Dean showed him how to flip the cocktail shaker, scoop in just the right amount of ice, the works. He was just starting to show off with a bottle-flipping trick when a familiar face slid onto the barstool in front of him.

“Bourbon,” the man said.

“On the rocks?” Dean asked.

“You know it, brother.”

Dean grinned, “Benny, how’ve you been? Long time, no see.”

“Well, the boyfriend keeps me on a tight leash.” Benny laughed. “But, Dean, between you, me, and that greasy co-ed you got next to ya?” Benny held up his left hand. “The boyfriend’s actually the fiance now.”

“Oh wow!” Dean said, swallowing past the lump that had suddenly appeared in his throat, “That’s great, Benny. Congrats!”

“Thanks, brother. How’s your beau?”

“On tour again,” Dean sighed, “But I’m proud of him.”

“How long’s it been now?”

“About five years.”

“Geez, maybe he should put a ring on it!”

“Yeah,” Dean said, handing Benny his drink, “How’s the school?”

“Hasn’t been the same since you left.” Benny took a swig of his bourbon. “The kids loved you, Dean. You were a great teacher.”

“I tried my best.”

“And your best was pretty damn good. I mean, look at me!” Benny laughed again, more cheerful than Dean had ever seen his former colleague. “I’m just alright at being the choir director. But you? You tore it up at English and creative writing. You could get back into it. It’s not too late.”

“Yeah, that’s what my brother says.” Dean started a drink order that Kevin passed down to him, another one of those rum-laden Christmas cocktails. 

“Sam, right? How is he? Still in law school?”

“Finished a couple of years ago, actually. He and his wife Jess are in Baltimore.”

“And your mother’s still down in Kansas?”

“Bingo.” Dean finished the cocktail and handed it to Kevin to give to the patron. Around him, jazzy Christmas music was playing, people were dancing or taking shots of tequila, and Benny was now telling Dean about his own mother’s new boyfriend. Dean laughed at the appropriate points in the story, mixed more drinks, bid Benny farewell when he decided to head out, and made Kevin do the next Christmas cocktail. Kid was getting better. 

_ The kids loved you, Dean. You were a great teacher. _

Yeah, that was the problem. He  _ was  _ a great teacher. That was in the past. It couldn’t be now. 

_ You could get back into it. It’s not too late. _

Dean walked home, at a little past two am, and watched all the Christmas lights in the town twinkling. This was the kind of walk Cas loved--nippy, cool air, the city quieter than normal, the lights on...Dean wished for a hand to hold, but instead there was just a beer in the fridge back in their apartment and a full-sized bed with only one person in it.

What would Cas think, if he wanted to try again, go back to school? 

And was Dean even brave enough to give it a try? 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you guys for all the love so far <3 writing this story has been really fun and if you think it's sappy now... _just you wait_


	9. December 9: Wishes

_ You remember how we met, right? On the train, me tripping and breaking my nose, you taking me to the hospital? I wish I could say something sappy and cute about how I was distracted by your good looks, but really I was just epically clumsy. It didn’t hit me until we were in the emergency room waiting room that you were, well, really hot (sorry). Which meant I was  _ **_so_ ** _ embarrassed. And then you asked for my number and I think my brain blue-screened. _

Dean had fond memories of that day. He could have just offered the random guy with the brilliant blue eyes and bloody nose some tissues and gone on with his day--but instead he chose to be the proverbial good samaritan, and boy had it paid off. Dean kept reading.

_ I was insanely nervous for our first date. I figured that maybe you had just asked me out to be nice or something, but you seemed genuinely interested in  _ **_me_ ** **.** _ This was before my books had gained traction, but you were content to listen to me describe my fantasy world. You were still a teacher, then, too, and we got along great. The more dates we went on, the more I hoped and wished that this would be a long-term thing, and just my luck: here we are, nearly five years later, and you’ve somehow just gotten better.  _

If it were anyone else, Dean would be puking by now, but he permitted (well, that wasn’t a great term--no one “let” Cas do anything. Cas just  _ did  _ things) Cas to be as sappy as he wanted--because, where Cas was concerned, Dean was just as sappy. 

Dean grabbed his phone and impulsively googled  _ am i ready to get married _ ? It felt like a dumb thing to search, but...well, there was Benny to contend with. If Benny, the free-spirited choir director at Dean’s old school, could get his shit together enough to get engaged, then why not him?

He clicked on the first link that came up, and then  _ start quiz.  _ The first question read, “What should we use as a gauge of compatibility?”

Dean took a sip of his coffee and puzzled over the answers before choosing the second one-- _ have a deep connection, and good sexual compatibility.  _ The others didn’t quite work--Dean was old enough to not give a shit if people thought they were an odd couple, they weren’t religious (as evidenced by getting kicked out of Cas’s parent’s church back in the day), and at face value, Dean and Cas didn’t seem all that similar. 

The second question read, “Why is your wedding day important?” 

Dean raised an eyebrow at the screen. None of these answers were right--Dean didn’t really care about everyone watching, although he knew it would be important to his mom. He ended up choosing  _ weddings are no big deal. It is better to elope and save the money and effort  _ even though it wasn’t really the  _ right  _ answer--it just made the most sense. He was more invested in just being with Cas.

Question three was “When is the right time to start planning for children?” 

“Jesus Christ,” Dean said, closing out of the webpage and tossing his phone on the couch. If he was stressed at the thought of  _ marrying Cas _ , having kids was a whole nother ball game. 

(Not that Dean didn’t want that. Cas would make a  _ great  _ dad.)

Dean downed the rest of his coffee and decided to escape the confines of his apartment, go on a walk. He took the stairs instead of the elevator out of the apartment complex, seeing a variety of Christmas decorations outside everyone’s doors. Outside, the street was relatively quiet for the hustle and bustle of Chicago--the lunch hour had recently ended, and everyone who wasn’t practically nocturnal like Dean was at work. 

Dean shot a text to Sam, even though Sam was likely in either court or a meeting-- _ how did you know that you were ready to propose to jess? _

To Dean’s surprise, Sam texted back nearly immediately.  _ I realized I couldn’t live without her. Why? Are you going to propose to Cas????? _

_ shut up,  _ Dean texted back, and not a moment later, his phone was ringing.

“Sammy,” he answered, “I said  _ shut up! _ ”

“I haven’t said anything!”

“But you’re going to.”

“Well, no shit, Dean. This is a phone call.”

“Okay, Samantha, get it out before you explode.” Dean stuffed the hand not holding his phone into his jacket pocket, trying and failing to ward off the chill of Chicago in December. 

“Before you freak: if you and Cas got married, you know we would all be so happy for you--”

“I don’t need you to affirm my sexuality, man. I need you to give me advice and not be a girl about it.”

“Dean!”

Dean sighed, “Sorry. I just--Charlie brought up whether I wanted to marry Cas, and now Benny--do you remember him? From the school?--he’s engaged, I saw him at the bar last night.”

“And this is something you want?”   


“Sam, Cas is  _ it  _ for me.”

“I know, Dean. We all know. It’s been pretty obvious since the beginning.” 

Dean sighed and stopped walking to sit on a bench.

Sam continued talking. “You don’t have to freak out about this, Dean. I know how you think--and Cas loves you for you. So just relax and let it happen naturally, okay?”

“Easy for you to say,” Dean muttered.

“Dean, go--go do something fun before work. Get your mind off of things. Check in with Cas. It’s all going to be fine.”

“Thanks, Sam.”

“It’s what I’m here for.” Sam hung up before Dean could say anything else. 

Dean stared at the street around him. He’d made it to a shopping district of sorts, with store windows full of Christmas presents and advertisements. Happy couples, happy families, even a dog in a sweater. He and Cas had talked about getting a dog, but they’d decided with their current schedules it wouldn’t work. Dean sort of wanted to have a dog to keep him company right now, though, snuggle up with him while Cas was away. 

He pulled up his text thread with Cas on his phone--the most recent message was a picture Cas had sent him of some socks he had gotten from a fan. They had leaves and vines on them, and Cas had captioned it  _ don’t leaf me alone! _ Dean had rolled his eyes and reacted to the message with a thumbs down. 

Dean thought about the memory Cas had written for today, back to the last line.  _ The more dates we went on, the more I hoped and wished that this would be a long-term thing, and just my luck: here we are, nearly five years later, and you’ve somehow just gotten better.  _

Dean, for his own part, wished that he felt like he deserved any of this, deserved a guy who was so enthusiastic about his own work but also supported Dean’s interests, who made terrible puns and proposed taco-themed road trips. Cas was a friggin’ unicorn, a once-in-a-lifetime thing, and Dean felt like something you could pick up at a convenience store. 

Dean looked at the storefront windows again, and then decided to head down the street to the coffee shop and get himself a peppermint hot chocolate. Maybe he’d take it back to the apartment and spike it. That counted as treating himself, right? 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> your honor I love them <3 (and thanks y'all for all the love!)


	10. December 10: Gingerbread

“How in the _hell_ \--” Dean furrowed his brow at the cookbook sitting on his kitchen table, “I’ve made this like a dozen times!” He threw his hands in the air and then looked at his gingerbread dough on the counter, which was woefully un-formed. 

“Wait,” Dean bent down to look at the cookbook again, and then smacked himself in the forehead. “ _Let it chill for three hours._ Fuck.”

After he finally got the dough in the fridge and the dishes washed, Dean flopped down on the couch and turned on the television. _Christmas Story_ was playing, but Dean turned it all the way down and pulled a piece of folded up paper from his pocket. It was from Cas’s Advent calendar--Dean had eaten the chocolate earlier, but then the coffee maker broke, and…

Yeah, Dean was having a pretty shit day. 

Dean unfolded today’s memory and got to reading, in the hopes that it would cheer him up somewhat. 

_As with the pie, you’re good at practically any baked good. Cake, bread, cookies, you name it, you can make it. You’re also a pretty good cook--which is convenient for me, because I’m...kinda shit at all of that. Case in point: the first year we were dating, I thought it would be fun to make a gingerbread house. When I came over to your apartment (this was before we lived together, obviously), you had made and chilled the dough already. We rolled it out, cut it into the right shapes, and put it in the oven. You had a headache, though, and I told you that you could take a nap and that I would tell you when the gingerbread was finished._

_That...did not go quite as planned. I didn’t pay attention so well, and the gingerbread burned. We ended up heading to the supermarket to get a kit, but then they were out of kits--the only kind left was a “build your own gingerbread pickup truck” kit. We ended up getting it, and had a ton of fun building it (and eating a_ **_lot_ ** _of candy). The next year, you put me in charge of dishes and watched the gingerbread bake yourself._

At least past Dean had remembered to chill the dough.

Dean remembered that Christmas--he had been pretty nervous about Cas coming over and had worried himself into a tension headache. He was starting to do that now--his head felt like it was going to explode, and he was pretty sure a beer was a bad idea. 

Just then, Dean’s phone rang. He nearly fell off the couch trying to grab it off the coffee table, and didn’t even bother to check the caller ID before he pressed it to his ear. 

“Sup, Dean?”

“Oh, hey, Charlie. What’s going on?”

“Nothing much.” Dean could almost hear Charlie’s shrug over the phone. “Just checking in.”

“Just checking--” Dean paused. “Did Cas put you up to this?”

“Ask me no questions, I’ll tell you no lies.”

“ _Charlie._ ” 

“Fine, fine, he did, but only because he said Sam said you were bummed out.”

“That’s it, I’m driving to Baltimore and murdering Sam.”

“Dean!” 

“Fine. No fratricide-- _for now_.” Dean rolled over into a more comfortable position on the couch. “Anyways, like I said: what’s up?”

“Playing video games with Dorothy.”

“When are you planning on asking her out?”

“Watch it, Winchester.” Charlie was joking, but Dean decided to keep poking at her.

He grinned at the ceiling as he spoke, “If you and Sam are allowed to heckle me about marrying Cas, I can do the same to you.”

“She’s not even moving here until May, Dean. What if we match well online but everything’s wrong in person?”

“What if everything’s awesome both ways? C’mon, Charles. You want me to be happy, and, shockingly, I want the same for you.” 

“Aw, you big softie.” Charlie paused, and it sounded like she was eating something. “Are you sure you don’t want to come over, play with us?”

“Nah, I’m making gingerbread.”

“Remember when we tried to make gingerbread that one time junior year, when we were drunk off our asses?”

“That was a _disaster.”_ Dean laughed, recalling how they had accidentally doubled the eggs but not any of the other ingredients, had added cayenne pepper, and had _definitely_ forgotten to chill the dough. 

“But the fun kind.”

“That’s the only kind we make.”

Charlie laughed, and then got serious. “You should call Cas.”

“You act like I haven’t been talking to him.”

“It would make you feel better. And as much as you miss him, he misses you, too. You talk a big game, but I know you, Dean Winchester. Call your man.”

“Fine.” Dean rolled his eyes. “I’ll do it right now. Happy?”

“Yes.” She hung up without saying goodbye and Dean sighed as he went to his “Favorites” and hit Cas’s contact. It went to voicemail.

_"This is Castiel James. Make your voice….a mail."_

Dean sighed. He remembered when Cas had come up with that voicemail greeting--he’d been outrageously proud of it and recorded it about ten times before Dean had stolen his phone. 

“Hey, Cas, it’s Dean. Well, duh. You have caller ID. You know that. Anyways, Charlie forced me to call you, not that it’s a chore. Had kinda a crappy morning but I’m hoping things get better. I read the gingerbread truck memory _after_ I started making gingerbread, so maybe it was fate. Anyways, I’ll leave you to it. Love you. Call back soon.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> some of you have expressed stress--worry not! a happy and sappy ending is guaranteed! <3


	11. December 11: Sharing is Caring

_ I love those J-I-N-G-L-E bells _

_ Those holiday J-I-N-G-L-E bells _

_ Those happy J-I-N-G-L-E B-E, double-L-S _

_ I love those J-I-N-G-L-E bells _

Dean sighed at the music coming over the department store’s speakers. He’d meandered, via another music-listening-subway-ride to the center of Chicago, and now he was surrounded by a cacophony of eager shoppers, little kids in green-and-red striped knit caps, moms in sensible shoes shoving past him. He was self-conscious of how he must look in the middle of the cookware section, immersed in porcelain, in his leather jacket and work boots, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. 

After all, he had priorities: casserole dishes. Cas. Christmas. 

He’d gotten the heck out of his apartment as soon as he’d finished reading Cas’s Advent calendar memory of the day, too overwhelmed to stay on the couch, staring at the Christmas tree. He still had the memory folded up in his pocket. It read:

_ One of the things I love about us is that we talk about things, like really talk. I think openness in a relationship is really important, and you feel the same. So (spoiler alert, this is an unhappy memory--but it has a happy ending!) the first time we had an argument, like a real-deal fight, not just bickering over what kind of popcorn was best or something like that, it could have been  _ **_way_ ** _ worse than it was. It was about telling your brother that we were dating--it had been about six months, and you were still hell-bent on keeping it to yourself, since you hadn’t come out to your family yet. As it turns out, they’re super supportive, but you didn’t know that yet, and I maybe didn’t handle your hesitancy well. But afterwards, instead of just sweeping it under the rug, we talked about it, because sharing is caring. I can count the number of real fights we’ve had in the past five years on three fingers--and one of those is that one. Sometimes when you’re down on yourself I want to shake you and remind you that, no matter what, you’re one of the most considerate and thoughtful people I know. You get that sharing is caring.  _

It wasn’t that the memory was  _ bad _ , per se--Dean was grateful for the same things as Cas, especially in these circumstances. But it reminded Dean of how he was, at the moment, keeping all his cards in his hand. It was like, as soon as Cas was across the country (he was in Utah right now, Dean was pretty sure), Dean couldn’t wrench his mouth open to talk about all the things that had been swirling in his mind since Cas had left. 

Dean considered the cookware--which dish would Cas like the most, the yellow or the green? And he still didn’t have a present for his mother...

_ You get that sharing is caring.  _ That’s what Cas’s memory for today had ended with. 

Before Dean could chicken out, he pulled his phone out of his pocket and shot Cas a text.  _ saw benny at the bar a few nights ago. you’ll never guess what he told me. _

He didn’t expect an answer for at least a few hours, so he was a little shocked when his phone dinged less than a minute later, after he had moved on to coffee makers (especially important, since theirs had broken yesterday).

_ he’s running away and joining the circus?  _ Cas had texted back, complete with a clown emoji. It was followed by another message:  _ (joke) _

_ no, but good guess,  _ Dean texted,  _ try again.  _ He wandered around one of the displays and tucked himself into a corner, ostensibly looking at serving platters, as not to impede other shoppers. 

_ he’s decided to stop being a teacher and join a nudist colony _

_ cas! _

_ sorry,  _ Cas texted, his laugh nearly readable over the message,  _ i’ll be serious now. what happened? _

_ benny and leonard got engaged.  _ Dean held his breath after he hit send, hoping that Cas’s response would be good. In the meantime, he turned his attention to the teapots. Cas loved tea--he always drank coffee in the morning to wake up, but tea was his go-to writing drink. They had an electric kettle already, but a teapot might be fun...more classy…

Dean’s phone dinged.

_ oh, that’s so great! tell him i said congrats :) _

_ i will,  _ Dean replied, with a thumbs-up emoji.

_ i have a signing in like five minutes so i have to go--but i got your voicemail from yesterday. can i call you when you get off work? _

_ sure thing. have fun :) _

_ love you <3 _

_ love you 2,  _ Dean sent back, before shoving his phone in his pocket for good. Maybe the department store had a teapot with bees on it. Cas would love that. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> dean and cas are in love  
> and I am in love w/ their love  
> send tweet :)


	12. December 12: The one with the dancing

_ Do you remember Sam’s wedding? _

Dean scoffed as he read the first line of Cas’s memory for today. Did he remember his own brother’s wedding? Really?

_ I know for certain that you probably don’t remember anything after the reception--you weren’t exactly sober. _

Oh, no, Dean remembered that, too. Happiness and booze could be powerful aphrodisiacs if used properly. 

_ It was a beautiful wedding. Outdoors, under a tent, the weather wasn’t too hot but wasn’t too cold, either. Jess had the prettiest dress, very simple, and Sam--well, your little brother didn’t look so little, did he? You cried. So did your mom. After the ceremony, there was a reception full of cake, wine, and dancing. You were so happy and carefree--and you danced with me, which doesn’t happen all that much, especially in public. I know you think sometimes that you’ve got people fooled into thinking you’re not that touchy-feely of a guy, but you’re dead wrong. (I know because most of your touchy-feeliness involves me.) _

Dean sighed. This was a good memory, maybe even a  _ great  _ memory. The smile on Cas’s face when Dean grabbed his hands to dance had been totally worth all of the nerves before that moment. 

Last night (or early this morning, really) when they had talked, Cas had seemed tired but happy. The tour was about halfway over now--thank god--and so far all of the fans had been nice and polite and asked, according to Cas, truly fascinating questions. 

_ “But how are you, Dean?”  _ Cas had asked, his voice low with tiredness at the late hour.

_ “I’d be better if you were here.”  _ Dean had replied with full honesty. It wasn’t a chore. 

_ “I’ll be home soon. And then I won’t go away for a while.” _

_ “How long?” _

_ “As long as you like.”  _ Cas’s tone had been completely sincere. 

And Dean believed him. Cas wouldn’t have taken such a long tour, so close to Christmas, if Dean hadn’t said it was fine. And while Dean wasn’t actually completely fine with it, he had overheard Cas talking on the phone to his agent and manager. A lot of bookstores were already booked for events in January or February, with other popular authors. Dean didn’t want his choices to ruin a successful launch of Cas’s new book. 

But that didn’t preclude Dean from missing him. 

Dean glanced at his phone--five thirty pm. If he didn’t leave soon, he was going to be late for work. 

“Someone’s mooning,” Jo said when Dean arrived at the bar, “Got another call from the boyfriend?”   


“Shockingly, people in relationships  _ do  _ talk to each other,” Dean replied drily. 

“Yeah, yeah. Well, you needed it. You were moping.”

“If you ask my brother, I’m still moping.”

“Good!” Jo handed him a martini glass. “This is for the girl on the end, blue streak in her hair.”

“Why is it  _ good  _ that I’m moping?” Dean pulled out the bottle of gin. 

“Because I’m having a Christmas party on the sixteenth. My boyfriend’s penthouse. It’s going to be a blast.”

“Is it a command performance?” Dean mixed the gin and vermouth before pouring the drink in the glass. 

“You betcha."

“Fine. I’ll go.” Dean stuck two olives on a drink stirrer and stuck them in the glass before handing it to Jo. “But I’m leaving early.”

“I know,” Jo called as she handed the drink to the girl with the blue streak in her hair. “Doesn’t matter. You just need to get out of the house. And,” she shoved his shoulder, next to him again, “Out of your own head.”

Her words reverberated later that night, when Dean was lying in bed, staring at the ceiling, unable to sleep. He flopped over sideways and spied a framed photograph of him and Cas on Cas’s bedside table. He rolled across the bed, grabbing the frame and fingering the edge. It was a silver frame, simple, with a picture of Dean and Cas at Sam’s wedding. They were both laughing, with Dean’s head thrown back and Cas’s gaze trained on him.  _ You were so happy and carefree,  _ Cas had written. 

Cas would come home, sooner rather than later now, and Dean was starting to get an idea of what he needed to say. 


	13. December 13: Poinsettias

_ One of the most hilarious arguments I have ever gotten in was with you: the Poinsettia Incident. It is a well-known rumor (stereotype? Can you stereotype plants?) that poinsettias are poisonous when, in fact, they are not. I vividly remember, however, being in Home Depot or some sort of home and garden and construction store and suggesting we get a poinsettia for our kitchen table around Christmas time. You just about lost it, telling me about how dangerous they were. (Me pointing out that they wouldn’t just be randomly sold in the store if they were that dangerous did  _ **_not_ ** _ help.) Eventually we read the Poison Control website  _ **_and_ ** _ talked to an employee before you believed me. Like I said, it was hilarious. Frustrating, but hilarious--just like you sometimes :) _

Dean sighed. Of  _ course  _ Cas would bring up the Poinsettia Incident. It had gained a bit of infamy, almost, among their friends, who mocked Dean every single goddamn time they heard the story. 

He folded the paper back up and shoved it in his jeans pocket before wedging his feet into his boots. He was on his way to work and had been texting Cas back and forth all day--little things. Pictures of the Chicago skyline met with the view out of a first-class window seat on a plane, an inside joke here and there, and, of course, Cas’s great love of emojis. Dean’s hope had been that reading the memory right before work would tide him over until later that evening, when he could use his phone again.

The closer Cas got to coming home, the more Dean missed him. It felt almost like the insides of his palms were itchy. There was so much he wanted to say, but he couldn’t say it over the phone. He needed to see Cas’s face, be able to reach out and touch him, because Dean would be damned if he admitted it out loud, but he was  _ scared _ .

All through his shift at the bar, Dean was preoccupied and distracted. He nearly gave a girl looking for a gin and tonic a margarita, he snapped at Kevin-- _ twice _ , nearly killed the poor kid (Dean did apologize later), and he left at two am when the bar closed with a bitter taste in his mouth. 

Dean decided to take a different, longer route to the subway station--he suddenly wasn’t really in the mood for people. As he walked, he spotted a looming, spired building that he’d seen a few times before but never stopped to look at. 

_St. George’s Catholic Church,_ the dimly-lit sign said. _Morning Prayer, eight am Sundays._ _Holy Eucharist, ten am Sundays. Priest-in-Charge: Father Robert Singer._

For reasons unbeknownst to Dean and his two am brain, he found himself tugging on the church’s door to see if it would open. It did, and he found himself in a dimly-lit sanctuary with plush red carpeting and old-looking wooden pews. Dean hadn’t been in a church since the time he and Cas had been kicked out of Cas’s parents church, and nearly every instinct was telling Dean that he should  _ leave _ . He wasn’t a man who even really believed in God, and he wasn’t about to start now, a queer man in a Catholic church. 

Nevertheless, Dean’s footsteps led him to a pew at the front of the church, close to the altar, which had a large golden cross behind it. There was a little cabinet on the side of the altar that had a red light on it. 

Dean sat heavily and put his head in his hands, registering as he did that there were poinsettias and greenery decorating the church--of course, Advent, something Cas had mentioned in one of his earliest memories. 

“Something troubling you, son?” A kind, deep voice said, Dean turned around, his leather jacket rustling, as he saw a man in black slacks, a black button-down, and a white clerical collar walking towards him, footsteps muffled by the carpet. He was clearly older, at least fifty or sixty, and his beard was mostly grey and white. 

“Father Robert Singer,” the man said, sitting next to Dean and sticking his hand out to shake, “But you can call me Bobby.”

“Do you...do you normally come here at two am?” Dean asked. 

“Only when I sense someone is in need, which you must be, if you’re here at this hour as well. What’s your name?”

“Dean. Dean Winchester. I should warn you though, Father. I’m not a religious man.”

“That’s alright.” Bobby smiled at him. “You don’t have to be religious to have something on your mind.”

Dean shrugged. “I just got back from the bar. I’m supposed to go home.”

“Ah, shame about alcohol? That’s common.”

“No, no, I--I work there. I was a teacher, but then--I quit. There was a lot going on in my personal life, and I just--” Dean sighed heavily. “I quit. So I’m a bartender now.”

“Do you like it?”

“I like the people. They’re great, I’ve made some good friends. But it’s different now. My brother is a lawyer--my  _ little  _ brother--in Baltimore. My partner is a well-known writer--”

“Is this a boyfriend or a girlfriend?” Bobby asked, interrupting him.

“Boyfriend.” Dean stared at the cross. “Aren’t you going to kick me out now?”

Bobby’s expression was calm, warm, almost fatherly. But what Dean knew about good fathers could fill  _ maybe  _ just an index card. “People can judge, but God has the final call.”

“I--okay.” Dean raised his eyebrows. “Not what I expected.”

“So,” Bobby continued, “You feel inadequate.”

“I...I guess so. I really want to...go to grad school, so I can teach again, but special ed this time. I taught English, and liked the teaching part...English was just okay. But I don’t--” Dean spread out his hands, trying to speak past the knot in his chest. “I don’t think I’m...good enough. I’m not notable or memorable. I’m just me, you know?”

“Why’d you leave your job?”

“My dad died.”

“Were you close?”

Dean let out a hollow laugh. “No. Dad was...he wasn’t always a good man. My parents were divorced. The weekends and holidays my brother and I spent with our dad...more often than not, he would dump us in motel rooms or just take us to McDonald’s. He didn’t know the first thing about fathering. But he--he did give me things. My car. The music I like. This jacket.” Dean fingered the cuffs of his leather jacket. “I didn’t expect to miss him once he was gone. But then he was gone, and I was here.”

“That’s quite normal.” Bobby sighed. “I had a father like that. Many people do. Tell me, what does your boyfriend think about this dream?”

“He’s encouraged me to follow it, but it would mean--it would mean I would have less disposable time, and I’d have a normal job again. Right now, my hours are--”

“You hate them.” There was no spite in the older man’s words, just honest analysis. 

“I--yeah. He’s gone right now. On tour. We can’t talk as much as I’d like. I--I miss him a lot. We’ve been together for five years.”

“You,” Bobby said, “Seem like the kind of person who likes to pretend they don’t feel pain.”

“That’s another thing I got from my dad.”

“You need to unlearn that, Dean. You see that red light?” Bobby pointed to the light that Dean had noticed on the side of the altar.

“Mmm-hmm.”

“It means that there’s communion there, blessed bread and wine, representing body and blood. The ear of God is always open to those who need him. You don’t even have to be religious to speak with God--you just need to speak to someone. He is present in all things, especially moments of need--or want. What do you  _ want,  _ Dean?”

“I want…” Dean clenched his fists. “I want my life back. The happy life I was supposed to have--teaching, getting married, having kids…”

“You say you and your boyfriend have been together for five years.”

Dean nodded.

“Seems like a good time to get married--I know couples who have gotten married after far less time.” Bobby smiled knowingly. “And it’s Christmas.”

“You have poinsettias,” Dean said. 

“What?” Bobby finally raised an eyebrow.

“You have--” Dean stood up, “Thank you, Father. Seriously. I--I have to make a phone call.”

“I’m glad I could help.” Bobby stood up too, smiling at Dean. “I hope you get what you want.”

When Dean was on the street again, outside the church, he dialed Cas’s number. 

“Hello?” Cas sounded like he had just woken up.

“I’m sorry if I--”   


“No, honey, it’s fine. I was just napping. I thought you weren’t calling until two thirty, once you got home.”

“I’m not home. I just--took a stop by a church, saw some poinsettias, and wanted to talk.”

“Oh,” Cas was smiling, Dean could tell, “You got to the Poinsettia Incident today.”

“I can’t believe you included that! Cas, you’re the worst.”

“You know you love me.”   


“Of course I love you.” Dean turned around, and saw Bobby watching him from the open church door. He waved and mouthed  _ thank you  _ again before finally heading off to the subway station. “How’s--where are you now, Oregon?”

“Yes, and it’s lovely, Dean, just lovely.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter is probably my favorite one so far ;-;


	14. December 14: Christmas Lights

_ You are...surprisingly good at ice skating. It shouldn’t really be  _ **_that_ ** _ surprising, though. You’ve claimed before (mostly in jest, I think) that you’re “the best” and you do seem to have a knack for being good at whatever you put your mind to. Ice skating is no exception. We went on an ice skating date a couple of years ago downtown. The rink has a giant Christmas tree in the center, and the lights are  _ **_gorgeous_ ** **.** _ I especially liked watching the way they danced over your face, made you look somehow more beautiful than usual. (Call me a sap if you want, Dean, but I know you’re one, too.) _

Dean grinned. That date had been  _ fun _ \--except for the part where Cas fell a little funny and had a terrible bruise for  _ weeks  _ as a result. Not that Dean minded taking care of Cas, but Cas could be a bit...grumpy when he was sick or injured. 

(He was also more cuddly during those times, though, so Dean took what he could get.)

Dean was having a better day today. For one, his insides didn’t feel like they’d been run over with a truck, and for another, there was the promise of another phone call with Cas after work.

Dean’s days were usually full of a lot of nothing. He did the dishes, swept the whole apartment, took out the trash, took a walk, went to go check on Baby in the apartment complex’s garage, watched a movie, ate half a frozen pizza, and  _ finally  _ it was time to go to work.

“Someone’s in a better mood,” Jo commented as Dean slid behind the bar, tying his apron on. “I heard you nearly killed poor Kevin last night.”

“He’ll live,” Dean said. 

“Finally got a call from the boyfriend?”

“Jo, I swear to god--”

Jo laughed. “It’s okay, Dean, I’m just messing with you. Picklebacks for the group of guys at that table over there.”

Making drinks was rhythmic, which was probably why Dean could do it night after night. He was a person who worked best with his hands--be that on the Impala or here, flipping the bottle of gin as he made a martini. He was, as Cas would say,  _ in his element _ .

He’d done this as a teacher, too--always talking with his hands and favoring presentations and projects over tests. He liked making big pieces of paper with plot points of whatever book his class was reading, and then hanging them on the board, asking his students to help put them in order. It was just how Dean’s mind worked. 

Last call took a little longer than usual--the pickleback guys had to be kicked out after one too many shots--but eventually Dean was headed home. As soon as he was inside his apartment, he pulled out his phone to dial Cas and kicked off his shoes. 

“Heya, sunshine,” Dean said by way of greeting, “How was your day?”

Cas yawned, “Long. I’m ready to get home.”

“I’m ready to have you home,” Dean said softly, walking into their bedroom and putting Cas on speaker as he started to peel off his jeans and change into his pajamas. 

“Soon, honey. What about your day? How was it?” 

Dean told Cas about the western he’d watched in the afternoon, after taking out the trash, and then Cas told Dean about an old lady who came to his signing, and then Dean was doing his favorite thing--he was curled up in bed, talking to Cas.

(It would have been better if Cas was here, in his arms, his whispers ghosting over Dean’s skin, but the phone was better than nothing.)

“Say…” Dean swallowed--no, he  _ gulped _ , “I’ve been thinking about...grad school.”   


“Really?” Dean would bet his savings that Cas’s eyebrows had just quirked up. “Since when?”

“Sam and Jo won’t stop heckling me,” Dean said, “I’m just thinking of a way to shut them up.”

“Like applying to grad school?”

“Maybe,” Dean said vaguely, already halfway regretting bringing this up. 

“That would be wonderful,” Cas said softly.

“Of course you think that.”

“Dean.” Cas sighed, slightly exasperated but not truly annoyed, “You’re very smart.”

“And love has blinded you to my true idiocy.” 

“If I could, I would slap you right now.” Cas was  _ definitely  _ rolling his eyes.

“So come home then,” Dean said. 

“Ten days, Dean, ten days.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> your honor they are dumb and in love :)


	15. December 15: Of snow and scarves

_ Right after Sam and Jess moved to Baltimore, we went to visit them. It was mid-January, and there was a heavy snowfall--for a little while, we thought we might not make it because of the snow and unsafe driving conditions. It ended up working out, though, and being a fun trip. What I remember especially about it (besides you and Sam bickering non-stop, like you two always do) was a snowball fight that the two of you roped Jess and I into. Sam jokingly called it “in-laws versus out-laws.” You and Sam, of course, declared yourselves the winners--if there’s truly a way to “win” a snowball fight. Either way, it was a load of fun, and the spiked hot apple cider afterwards didn’t hurt.  _

What Dean remembered from Cas’s memory was having a large internal freak-out over Sam’s “in-laws versus out-laws” comment. He and Cas, at that point, had been together about as long as Sam and Jess--and Sam and Jess were married. 

It had stressed Dean out. A lot. He hadn’t broached the topic with Cas--he wanted to,  _ god,  _ he wanted to, Dean would be lying if he claimed that he hadn’t acted like a goddamn teenage girl on occasion and thought about what it would be like to refer to Cas as his  _ fiance  _ or  _ husband  _ instead of  _ boyfriend. _

( _ And _ what it would be like to hear Cas refer to himself as  _ Castiel Winchester  _ instead of  _ Castiel James _ . Now  _ that  _ was a powerful spank-bank fantasy of Dean’s.)

Dean folded up the memory, stuck it in his pocket, and stood up from the couch, yawning. He’d been loafing all day, channel surfing and doing fuck-all on his phone, and it was time to take a walk.  Or, it was the time that Cas would emerge from his office (aka the guest bedroom that almost never got used by guests) and goad Dean into taking a walk. (Cas was typically successful, because he would hold Dean’s hand the whole time.)

Dean headed to the front door, pulling his leather jacket off the hook and shrugging it on. He patted his pockets, making sure that he had his keys, phone, and wallet, and then he was out. 

He made the walk to the same shopping area in his neighborhood--it was a familiar place, somewhere he could just sit on a bench and let the afternoon roll by, which is exactly what he did.

Dean sat on a bench, watching a group of pigeons battle it out over a crust of bread. A store nearby had its door propped open and Christmas music blaring out of it. It was strangely loud and quiet at the same time. 

Dean pulled his phone out of his pocket but didn’t unlock it, occasionally pressing the power button to the picture of Cas reading that was his lock screen again. But he didn’t come out here to look at his phone, did he? 

Dean unlocked it and went to Google, typing in  _ master’s programs special education chicago illinois.  _ There were over 90 million results, and he started scrolling through them. 

_ DePaul University. Northeastern Illinois University. Loyola University Chicago. National Louis University. Saint Xavier University.  _

Were these the sort of places that would accept someone who had an associate’s degree in Secondary Education from Kansas City Kansas Community College and a bachelor’s in English education from Kansas State? Dean raised a critical eyebrow to himself and tapped on the link to DePaul University’s page. 

_ If you are already licensed a teacher, you can add a Special Education (LBS1 preK-21) endorsement to your PEL. Classes are offered on DePaul’s Lincoln Park Campus, and this program can be completed in two to three years. _

Well, Dean  _ was  _ a licensed teacher in the state of Illinois. He wasn’t sure if his certification was current anymore, since it had been a few years, but he could contact the state department of education and figure it--

“What the hell am I doing?” Dean said to himself out loud. He looked at his phone again, at the DePaul University College of Education logo, and closed out of the page.

(Well, he bookmarked it first. And marked it  _ read later _ , just to be safe.)

He didn’t look at his phone all the way back to his apartment, but once he was back and cracking open a beer to have with dinner before work, he saw that he had missed calls from Sam and Charlie, and they’d both left voicemails. 

_ Hey, Dean,  _ Sam’s voice came out of Dean’s phone,  _ just calling to check on you. I know, I know, I probably don’t need to--or you don’t want me to--but I’m just doing the brotherly thing. Jess and I say hi. Have you called Mom recently? Love you. Talk to you later. _

_ Dean! I’m making Christmas cookies tomorrow, want to help?  _ Charlie’s voice was excited and bubbly, as always.  _ If you don’t want to, no problem, but I don’t want you to be a hermit. Lemme know if you’re coming over!  _

Dean smiled at the screen, and then took a swig of his beer before going back to the web browser on his phone and pulling up the DePaul University bookmark. 

_ The Special Education master’s program will prepare you to help exceptional students in kindergarten through 12th grade. You’ll also learn to manage teams, mentor colleagues, coach paraprofessionals and work closely with parents. Your knowledge will fill a nationwide need. According to the National Education Association, 98 percent of U.S. school districts report a need for qualified special educators. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> did I do legit research to see what degrees dean could get at community college and uni in Kansas City, kansas? did I actually google what he googled to get a list of real universities he could go to in Chicago? did I take some lines straight off the DePaul university page? MAYBE 
> 
> yeah this one's a little more plot/jargon heavy but dean is REACHING FOR HIS DREAMS GODDAMMIT


	16. December 16: Family

_ You only have one sibling: Sam, your younger brother. I have...three. Three older brothers. I am both the youngest and the cosmic disappointment of the James family (hint: it’s because I’m gay). Michael, Raphael, and Gabriel (who is less of a dick than the others because he’s not homophobic, but he is a total prankster. In a bad way.) Gabriel is, like myself, sort of estranged from the family, but Michael and Raphael are  _ **_not,_ ** _ a fact that was quite apparent that one time my cousin Balthazar got married and I brought you as my plus-one. It was an experience that we had. We certainly had some...enlightening conversations with some more close-minded family members of mine. At least there was really good champagne at the wedding. And I had the hottest date.  _

Cas was correct, Dean thought--Balthazar’s wedding had been a fiasco. Balthazar himself was wonderful, a little teasing and bothersome in a very Gabriel-esque way. It had been Cas’s parents that were the problem. Cas was lucky that Dean hadn’t punched anyone in the face. 

At the present moment, though, Dean had more pressing matters to attend to--he had his singular night off of work for the month until Christmas, and for some inane reason he was wasting it going to a party at Jo’s boyfriend’s penthouse instead of having a movie marathon composed entirely of westerns from the 1950s. 

Jo never bragged about Trevor and his endless amount of money and his fancy house, but it always struck Dean in a way that was, well...pretty negative. It wasn’t exactly a secret that Cas had a fair amount of book money, but they still lived in a moderately okay apartment in a mostly safe part of town. As far as Dean could tell, Trevor was rich because his parents were rich, and not because he had anything to do with his own success. For a guy from Buttfuck-Nowhere, Kansas (so, anywhere in Kansas, although Dean was specifically from Lawrence) it was frustrating. 

Dean got to Trevor’s penthouse at about nine pm and decided to forgo knocking entirely and just walk in. The party was already in full swing, and it made Dean feel so  _ old.  _ He remembered going to parties some in college, although they usually involved him and Charlie leaving early to play video games or drunkenly watch Star Trek and have a field day shipping Captain Kirk and Spock (who were totally in love, by the way). To be fair, parties at Kansas City Kansas Community College weren’t exactly the craziest thing in the world. A penthouse rager, with rich-kid drugs and an honest-to-god DJ, wasn’t really Dean’s speed. 

He edged through the crowd, searching for Jo, who was probably making out with Trevor in a bathroom somewhere. This was the kind of thing Cas would hate--the people, the noise, the...everything. 

_ God,  _ Dean thought,  _ I don’t turn thirty until next month and I’m already an old man.  _

(Cas had turned thirty-one back in September. Dean almost always forgot that Cas was older than him.)

Eventually, after an hour of nursing a really shitty beer that was probably more expensive on its own than a six-pack of Coors, searching for Jo, and listening to terrible rap music made by a gaggle of poorly-tattooed white guys that intercepted Dean by the bathroom, he decided that he’d had enough. He made his escape, shooting Jo a text on his way out.  _ sorry i didn’t find you to say hi, but your boyfriend throws terrible parties.  _ He had a feeling she wouldn’t see it until the morning. 

As soon as he was on the street, almost instinctively, he pulled out his phone and called Cas before settling down on the front stoop of Trevor’s apartment complex. 

“You’re calling early,” Cas said by way of greeting. 

“It’s my night off. I went to a party that Jo invited me to.”

“And how was that?”

“Terrible.”

“Of course.” Cas was smiling--his deep voice always lilted a certain way when he was, and Dean loved it. “I just left a party myself.”

“How was yours?”

“Also terrible. I decided to go visit a park nearby and look at their Christmas light displays instead.” 

“Did they have one of a polar bear in a Santa hat?” Dean asked. 

“Sadly, no. But there is a sleigh and reindeer.” Dean could hear Cas’s footsteps as he spoke. “It’s gorgeous.”

“Can’t say the same for Trevor’s penthouse. I feel sorry for his cleaning lady tomorrow.”

“Oh, it was a  _ Trevor  _ party. That explains everything.” A pause. “It’s snowing here, Dean. In Oklahoma. Is it snowing in Chicago?”

“I wish. It’s just cold.”

“Maybe it’ll snow when I get home.” Cas’s voice sounded wistful. 

Dean stood up--he was freezing his ass off on the stone steps--and started walking. “But not before. I don’t want your plane to get stuck somewhere.”

“That would be terrible,” Cas said, “As nice as everyone has been--it’s not the same. What are you doing once you get home?”

“Probably watching a movie,” Dean said, kicking a piece of trash idly as he walked.

“You should watch  _ Miracle on 34th Street _ . That’s what I’m watching later.”

“Okay,” Dean said, a small smile forming on his face, “Just for you.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks guys for all the nice comments ;-; my heart is happy!


	17. December 17: The ugliest sweater in the world

_ How do I know that you love me? Well, there are many indicators, but one of them is the matching Christmas sweaters we had last Christmas. I thought it would be sweet (and expected to have to do a  _ **_lot_ ** _ of bargaining to get you, Dean “no chick flick moments” Winchester to agree)--and now there are pictures to prove it. And they weren’t  _ **_that_ ** _ gaudy--just navy blue with white snowflakes. Very Fair Isle. (You made a lot of fun of me for knowing the names of knitting patterns.) There’s a picture of us in those sweaters lurking on one of our Facebooks somewhere. We should wear them again this Christmas :) _

The picture was on Dean’s Facebook--he remembered because he’d made a _ little  _ bit of a fuss about the matching sweaters, but had secretly thought it was cute. There was also the added benefit of the sweaters making Cas really happy. 

Dean took a sip of his coffee and unlocked his phone, opening Facebook and scrolling through his timeline until he got to the matching sweater picture. They were exactly as Cas had remembered--navy blue, white snowflakes. In the picture, it was snowing, and both of their faces were pink with cold. The dusting of snowflakes stood out prominently on Cas’s dark hair. There was a wide grin on Dean’s face, and Cas’s head was leaning on Dean’s shoulder. Charlie had taken this picture, hadn’t she? 

Tears rose to Dean’s eyes, unbidden. He scrubbed furiously at his eyes with the back of his hand, but they kept coming, until he was leaning with his head on the kitchen table, fully sobbing about a  _ picture.  _

But Dean knew it wasn’t really about the picture, it was about Cas--tall, strong, deep-voiced Cas who was so easy to make happy with matching sweaters and ice-skating dates and emojis of animals. Cas deserved the  _ world _ , and he acted like Dean could give him that, like Dean had hung the goddamn moon.

Dean peeled his face off the table and rested his chin in his hand, the tear-tracks already drying on his cheeks. He picked up his phone again, closing out of the Facebook app and heading to his web browser. The page for DePaul University’s special ed master’s program was still open, taunting him. 

There was a button at the bottom of the page that said  _ apply.  _

Dean clicked on it, and it took him to another page with all the types of students-- _ freshman, transfer, adult,  _ wait, there was the graduate school tab.  _ Degree,  _ that’s what Dean wanted. 

_ Thank you for your interest in DePaul University! First time here? Click Create an Account to get things started. Please note that this is not your Campus Connect account! _

Okay, this was going to require some serious sitting down. And they were going to want his resume, probably. When was the last time he’d updated that thing? How would three years as a bartender look on it? Maybe he’d have to write an essay…

Dean went back to the main search engine results page for  _ master’s programs special education chicago illinois  _ and bookmarked all the other universities that came up.  _ Baby steps _ , he thought. He’d googled. That was half the battle, right? 

He went back to Facebook and scrolled mindlessly through his feed--oh, Patience, the art teacher at the high school Dean had taught at, was pregnant. Hadn’t she gotten married last year? Dean’s mom had posted a picture of birds in the snow--he recognized the birdfeeder, it was the one Sam had hit with a baseball bat on accident when he was fourteen and Dean was eighteen. They’d spent hours carefully super gluing it back together, as it was Mom’s favorite.

Hadn’t Sam said in his voicemail a few days ago to call Mom? Yeah, Dean was going to have to get on that. 

The next post was from his friend Garth, the guy who had roped Dean into joining the robotics club at their high school in Lawrence--Dean didn’t know the first thing about programming, but he understood machines, so it had surprisingly worked out. 

It was a picture of skinny, slightly awkward, soft-hearted Garth with his girlfriend Bess, and Bess was holding up a hand with a ring on it. Garth had captioned it,  _ Looks like there’s going to be another Fitzgerald, just in time for Christmas!  _

So Garth was engaged. 

The tears were back again, in full force, as Dean looked at Garth and Bess’s smiling faces, until they obscured the photo. Dean resisted the urge to throw his phone across the kitchen (the coffee pot was already broken, he had enough problems as it was) and instead went to the living room and threw himself on the couch, closing out Facebook  _ again _ \--wasn’t there an app for preventing access to other apps?--and opening up Amazon, before typing in the search bar  _ bumblebee teapot.  _

If he couldn’t give Cas the world, he could at least give him novelty cookware. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> let dean winchester cry 2020  
> also just imagine dean and garth doing robotics together. have you imagined it? isn't it PRECIOUS?!


	18. December 18: Traffic Jam

_ Your mom is a really cool lady for a myriad of reasons (especially because of that story she told me one time about punching a lady who said it was such a shame she “had an *insert slur here* for a son.” I think Mary gave that woman a black eye.), so last year when you suggested we visit her “just for fun,” I was all in. Unfortunately, we didn’t do  _ **_quite_ ** _ enough planning ahead, because we hit a massive traffic jam on the way out of Chicago thanks to rush hour. Traffic isn’t your favorite thing in the world, but instead of letting that start our trip off on the wrong foot, you turned up the music and...for lack of a better phrase, we had a bit of a classic-rock-traffic-jam-dance-party. It was a lot of fun--you always know how to make things fun :) _

Man, maybe Cas had the right idea with this memory. Dean popped the piece of chocolate from the Advent calendar into his mouth and then rolled off the couch, shoving the paper with the memory into his jeans pocket as he went on a search for his headphones.

They were noise-cancelling and Cas had gotten them for him, last January, for his birthday. Dean found them in his sock drawer and briefly questioned the sanity of his past self before putting them on and scrolling through the music saved on his phone for...there it was.

_ Dean’s Top 13 Zepp Traxx. _

It was a playlist based on one of the first gifts Dean had ever given Cas--an honest-to-god mixtape chock-full of Dean’s favorite jams--hence the title. Dean queued it up, and then turned the volume as loud as he could without hearing his mother lecturing him in his head. 

He spent the next hour or so sliding around the apartment in his socks, sort of cleaning things but mostly stopping to dance--in front of the sink, by the television, in the bathroom while he mopped the tile floor. He was interrupted by the music stopping and his phone ringing.

“Hello?” Dean said breathlessly after jamming the answer button.

“Open the door, Dean!” It was Charlie. 

Dean slid to the door, pulling his headphones around his neck. He ended the call and pulled the door open to be greeted by Charlie’s slightly pink face, red from the cold. She was holding a plate of cookies wrapped in plastic wrap, and when she saw Dean in his jeans, slipper socks (from Cas) and University of Chicago sweatshirt (Cas’s alma mater), she started laughing.

“Jesus Christ, Dean!” Charlie shoved her way inside. “I thought you’d died or something! Remember that voicemail I left you a few days ago about making Christmas cookies?”

“Yeah…” Dean said, suddenly remembering it, “I kinda forgot.”

“Of course.” But she was still smiling as she went to his kitchen and sat down the plate. “I just thought I’d bring you some and check on you.”

“I’m the same as I always am, Charles,” Dean said, “Going to work, doing stuff around the house....”

“How’s Cas?”   


“He’s great.” Dean took the plastic wrap off the plate and inspected the cookies before grabbing a snickerdoodle. “Less than a week until he’s home.”

“I bet you’re eager for that to happen.”

“Uh-huh.” Dean took a bite. “This is great, Charlie.”

“Duh. I made it.”

“You’re modest, too.” Dean smirked at her. “Seriously, though, I’ve been fine. A little bummed out here and there, but that makes sense.”

“What have you been up to?”

“Charlie, I  _ just  _ told you. The usual.”

“You, Dean Winchester, are hiding something.” She grabbed the half-eaten cookie from Dean’s hand. “Tell me.”

“Give me my cookie back!”

“Tell me what you’ve been doing.”

“Ugh. Fine. But you can _ not  _ tell anyone.  _ Especially  _ Sam.”

“No promises.”

“ _ Charlie.” _

“Okay, okay.” She relinquished the cookie, and Dean shoved the rest of it in his mouth. “Spill.”

“I’vemaybebeenlookingatgradschools.”

“Can you…say that in English?”

“ _ I’ve maybe been looking at grad schools.” _

“Dean, that’s great!” A grin spilled over Charlie’s features.

“No, it’s not,” Dean said grimly.

“Dean. C’mon. You’re mega smart--and I should know, I went to college with you. Any school would be lucky to have you.” Dean shrugged, but Charlie barreled onwards. “If this is like the whole Cas-marriage thing, then let me be the first to tell you:  _ you’re wrong.  _ You’re so worthy.”

“You’re my best friend. You have to think that.”

“Nah.” She took one of the cookies and took a bite. “Not really. But I do think it--because it’s true.”

“Sure.”

“Look.” Charlie smiled at him gently, “The only thing standing in your way is you. So what’re you gonna do?” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> is it really a destiel fic if I don't include the mixtape?


	19. December 19: Photographs

_ A few months after we started dating, my first book,  _ **_Angel and Demon,_ ** _ started to pick up traction. It was a really exciting time--nothing like this had happened to me before. Previously, the only people who really knew or cared about my writing were you, my friend Meg from college, and my brother Gabriel (and he only cared because Michael and Raphael didn’t, and he felt obligated). After people really began to talk about it, it was arranged that I would do an interview--I forget the publication now--and they wanted some pictures of me where I...didn’t look much like myself, to be honest. The photographers had a vision of what a writer should look like--I just wanted to look like me. Messy hair, a half-drunk mug of tea with the tea bag accidentally still in, sweatpants and that sweatshirt with the giant geometric bee on it that you got me and I’ve worn the cuffs thin (I’m wearing it as I write this, actually). They put me in a suit and gelled my hair flat and tried to make me  _ **_pose_ ** _. And the interview, when it came out, was edited down to be so dry and dull. Luckily, some indie publications decided to interview me next, but you remember what happened after the shoot--I was upset.  _

_ I felt like maybe the writing world didn’t want the real me, they wanted the me that was easy to digest. If they didn’t have to acknowledge the truth, the honest truth--that I’m a gay man who likes to write fantasy--then I would be liked more. I sort of shut down, and since it was fairly early on in our relationship, you didn’t really know what to do. But what you ended up doing sort of cemented, even a few months in, this notion that you were sort of it for me. You were just  _ **_there,_ ** _ supporting me when I felt pretty alone. And then you were there when I started to get my “sea-legs” back. And now you’re here, now that book three is out, and you’re still one of my biggest cheerleaders. _

_ Thank you. _

“Sappy sonofabitch,” Dean said out loud to his ceiling. “Dammit.” He looked at the paper containing Cas’s memory again, the chocolate long gone (read: in Dean’s stomach). 

_ But what you ended up doing sort of cemented, even a few months in, this notion that you were sort of it for me. _

A bit of hope had flared in Dean’s chest, a notion that maybe he wasn’t as bad for Cas as he thought. Cas had trusted him like this, even early on. And while this memory was broad, and belonged more to Cas than him, Dean remembered this. Cas had practically shut down, withdrawn on himself, convinced himself that he didn’t belong or his story wasn’t needed. 

Dean had still been an English teacher at the time, and he had brought to Cas’s apartment one night a sheaf of book reports, creative writing projects, and papers. Some of his students had read  _ Angel and Demon  _ and wrote book reports or papers about it, or, even better, did creative writing projects on it. Dean had wanted to show Cas that his work  _ mattered,  _ no matter what some schmucks at a news station or some crap said, that his work inspired kids.

His kids.

That was what Dean missed about teaching the most, his gaggle of students. His classroom, Mr. Winchester’s classroom (no one had called him  _ Mr. Winchester  _ in ages), was always a cacophony of what Charlie called, when Dean described it, “happy learning noise.” He missed that in ways that couldn’t be explained. 

“What’s he thanking me for,” Dean muttered as he pulled himself off the couch. Cas always gave so much, took so little. Dean should’ve been thanking  _ Cas _ for making him feel less like a sad sack of shit.

It was time for a walk.

Without Cas there, Dean’s days were boring--he was used to making them lunch, chatting over sandwiches or pizza or spaghetti or whatever about Cas’s latest adventures. On Thursday mornings, they would go grocery shopping. Sunday nights were always date night, after Dean got back from work if he didn’t have the night off, and on Wednesdays they would play games with Charlie. His phone calls with Sam were always punctuated by Cas popping in to say hi, and the same went for whenever Cas called Meg or Gabriel. 

The days were boring  _ and  _ lonely.

Dean walked idly, not listening to music for once. When he got to his normal bench, in front of the store with Christmas music and cheer leaking out at the seams, he sat down and scrolled through his phone, heading for his voicemails. He never cleared out his inbox, and sometimes, as a joke, Cas would call Dean while he was at work and leave silly ones. He pressed  _ play  _ on the most recent one.

_ Dean, I’ve had an idea. We should find a puzzle with the largest amount of pieces and do it. On our living room floor. What’s the largest amount of pieces a puzzle can have?  _ Cas giggled.  _ I’m going to google it. I should have gone to bed earlier like you suggested. But I didn’t!  _

Dean rolled his eyes. That was when Cas had gotten a cold and the medicine had made him loopy as hell. When Dean had gotten back to their apartment, Cas was passed out on the couch in a pair of Dean’s pajamas, and Dean had carried him back to bed. He pressed  _ play _ on the next message, from about two weeks before the sick one.

_ Today’s complimentary honey bee trivia: bees can fly at about twenty miles per hour. Also, we’re out of honey. Can you remind me to put it on the shopping list? I love you.  _

All of the messages were like that--Cas telling him random tidbits, reminding him of things, asking him things. Since Dean wasn’t on his phone at work, he usually listened to the messages on the subway on the way back to the apartment. He never got tired of Cas’s voice.

He decided to leave a message of his own. He dialed Cas’s number, and was shocked when Cas picked up.

“Hey,” Dean said, “I, uh, didn’t expect you to answer.”

“What’s up?” Cas sounded a little tired, even though it was midday.

“I was going to leave you a voicemail about the song playing in the store I’m sitting in front of.”

“Oh,” now Cas was smiling, “Like the ones I leave you?”

“Yeah.” Dean smiled in spite of himself. “Just like that.”

“How about you pretend this is a voicemail?”

Dean laughed. “Okay, uh...the store is blaring  _ Baby, It’s Cold Outside.  _ I kinda hate that song. I just feel like  _ your lips are delicious  _ is a weird line. What is this guy, a vampire or something? You should put vampires in your next book. As long as you don’t  _ Twilight  _ it.”

“I would never do that,” Cas said, “The  _ Twilight  _ part, anyways.”

“I know.”

“I have to go,” Cas continued, his voice sounding a little bit sad, “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Dean replied, “Like I said, I didn’t think you would pick up.”

“Thank you, though,” Cas said, “Today’s already been kind of overwhelming. It was nice to hear from you.”

“Hey, you’re always on my mind, you know that?” 

“Of course.” Cas cleared his throat. “Okay, now I  _ really  _ have to go. I love you.”

“Love you more. Bye, sweetheart.”

“Bye.” Cas ended the call. 

The conversation lingered in Dean’s mind for the rest of the day--the weariness of Cas’s voice, but then the sheer gratitude when he thanked Dean for calling. Cas was the textbook version of an introvert, and he was a people pleaser--sometimes this stuff was hard on him. 

As soon as he got off work, he found himself walking towards St. George’s, as if he was being pulled there by an invisible force. There was a Christmas wreath on the church’s door now, and it was strangely comforting. Dean pushed open the door, scraping his shoes on the welcome mat. 

The nave looked exactly as it did when he had been in here the week before--the same quietness, dim lights, and poinsettias, although there was more greenery around the altar and the stained glass windows now. 

Dean stopped in the middle of the aisle to stare at one of the windows. There was a man on it that he figured was supposed to be Jesus, and he was surrounded by tiny sheep--lambs?

“One of the names for Jesus is  _ the good shepherd _ . Another is  _ lamb of God _ ,” a voice said from behind him. Dean turned around and, sure enough, it was Father Robert-- _ call me Bobby.  _

“Hey,” Dean said, his voice coming out hoarser than intended. 

“I did wonder if you would come back,” Bobby said. He was in the same outfit as before--the black slacks and button-down, the white clerical collar. 

“I just felt like I needed to be here,” Dean replied. It was the truth, stark and honest. 

“Do you need to talk again?”   


Dean shook his head. “It’s quiet in here. I like that.”

“The stillness of the Spirit,” Bobby said. “It’s reassuring.”

“Why did you become a priest?” Dean asked. 

“I felt that it was what I was supposed to do, to serve my community and world. I wanted to help out those who were less fortunate.” Bobby smiled at him. “Why did you become a teacher?”

“...Same reason.”

“Remember that, son.” Bobby clapped him on the back. “You’re a good man, Dean.”

“You’ve only met me twice.”

“I have a feel for these sorts of things.” Bobby walked up to the altar, and then turned his attention to a door beside it. “But now I am being called to go to bed. You should go home, too.”

“Right.” 

But Dean stayed, staring at the stained glass image of Jesus and the lambs, for a little while longer. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> your honor I am in love with their love ;-;


	20. December 20: Let's watch a movie!

_ Today’s fact about Dean Winchester: you’re a  _ **_huge_ ** _ nerd. Gosh, I remember when you were still a teacher and your students would get to a unit on a book you especially liked--Tolstoy and Vonnegut probably aren’t on every high schooler’s reading list, but you really tried to show your students the world. Of course, your nerdiness extends past books into the world of films, especially in terms of westerns and sci-fi, two things you’ve spent the past five years tirelessly showing me. Your main accomplice in these endeavors? None other than Charlie.  _

_ One winter, when there was a lull in my book work (I had just quit my day job) and you and Charlie had a free weekend, the two of you roped me into a Star Wars movie marathon. At that point, only the films up to The Last Jedi had come out, but that still left us with the original trilogy, the sequel trilogy, Rogue One, and, of course, the two films in the sequel trilogy that had been released. Three young adults, nine movies, a lot of snacks, and about twenty-three hours later, I was in deep need of sleep but had also gained an appreciation for your beloved science fiction. I would do it all again. (In fact, I sort of did, when the two of you forced me into a Lord of the Rings marathon next.) _

Dean laughed as he read Cas’s memory for today. He remembered that weekend--especially the long-winded argument for most of  _ Attack of the Clones  _ about the superiority of either C-3PO or R2-D2. 

(R2-D2 was the best, obviously. But K-2SO from  _ Rogue One  _ was Dean’s favorite droid overall.)

Maybe he should spend one of his long, lonely days until Cas got back (although, to be fair, it was only three more now) having a mini marathon--pick a trilogy and watch it. All of the sequel trilogy was out now--Dean and Charlie had strong-armed Cas into going to see both  _ Solo  _ and  _ The Rise of Skywalker  _ with them at the theatre, and while Cas had mildly complained, Dean knew it was all in jest-- _ Star Wars  _ was inescapable. 

(They’d also gotten Cas into  _ Star Trek _ \--although Cas didn’t appreciate occasionally being compared to Spock. Dean asserted that he himself was like Captain Kirk--and then usually got made fun of by Charlie, Cas, or Charlie  _ and  _ Cas.)

That would have to wait until another day, though--work at the bar called, and things were busier than ever, what with it almost being Christmas. That reminded Dean--he was  _ never  _ to show the  _ Star Wars Holiday Special  _ to Cas. That thing had been painful enough to watch the first time around. 

Dean pulled himself off the couch and hoped that the piece of chocolate could sustain him until he got home, or that he could convince Ellen to let him eat some fries--an accidental mid-afternoon nap had nixed eating dinner, and he didn’t trust the subway enough to eat on it.

Things at the bar were, as predicted, busy. Dean was paired with Jo and Kevin tonight--the shifts usually beefed up around busy times--and Kevin was really getting the hang of mixing drinks. It was better than last week, at least, when Kevin had accidentally spilled an entire martini on the floor when he dropped the cocktail shaker. 

“Let’s play Secrets,” Jo said during a lull in orders.

“Secrets?” Kevin asked. Man, he needed a haircut that wasn’t a bowl cut. 

“It’s a game Dean and I came up with a couple months after he started working here,” Jo said. “Basically, we take turns telling a ‘secret,’ and then the other person, or, in this case, people, try to guess if it’s true.”

“Oh, so kind of like Two Truths and a Lie, only with just one thing?”

“Well when you put it that way…” Jo turned to Dean. “Why don’t you start?”

“You always make me start.” Dean frowned but kept speaking. “Okay...when I was a kid, my brother Sam broke his arm because I convinced him that he could fly and he jumped off of a barn.”

“They have barns where you’re from?” Kevin asked.

“I’m from  _ Kansas _ ,” Dean replied.

Their conversation was disrupted by an order of tequila shots for a table, but when they came back together, Jo said, “I think that’s true.” 

“What do you think?” Dean asked Kevin.

“To be honest,” Kevin said, “You’re kind of scary sometimes. So I’d totally believe it.” 

“Yikes,” Jo said, “Well, Dean, is it true?”   


“Uh-huh. I thought my dad was going to kill me when he found out,” Dean said, “And Sammy was pitiful. I think he’s forgiven me now, though. Okay, Kevin, your turn.”

“Uh…” Kevin looked around the bar for a minute, as if searching for a fact. “Okay, I got it. I made a C on one of my AP Chemistry tests in high school.”

“Jesus,” Jo said, “I forgot that you’re practically a baby. That’s a lie, though.”

“I agree with Jo,” Dean said.

“You’re right,” Kevin smiled a little bit. “I made a B once, though.”

“The others were all As, weren’t they?” Jo asked. They were separated again by a gin and tonic, a margarita, and one of those fruity drinks that Dean could practically mix in his sleep. 

“My turn,” Jo said, once the orders had been fulfilled, sans a beer that Dean was pouring from the tap for someone. “Trevor is going to propose on Christmas.”

“No way!” Kevin and Dean both said at the same time.

“Wow,” Jo said, “Is that hard to believe that I might be marriage material?”

“It’s not you I’m worried about,” Dean said, “It’s  _ Trevor. _ ”

“I know, I know. He always lacks initiative, but--”

“Jo, all you  _ talk  _ about is how either a) he’s hot or b) he’s annoying,” Dean said, “And how do you know, anyways?” 

“His mom told me. She said she was too excited to keep it a secret.” Jo grinned. “I’m still excited!”

“Well, congratulations,” Dean said, clapping her on the back while Kevin nodded in agreement, “I just can’t wait to see how your mom reacts.”

“Oh, Ellen will live,” Jo said dismissively. “I hope, anyways.”

The rest of the night passed in the same way--snippets of conversation between drink orders and wiping down the bar. The game of Secrets was quickly abandoned in favor of Jo talking about every aspect of what she wanted her wedding to be like, and Kevin and Dean grunting in assent. 

Dean had thought about marrying Cas, of course he had, but it was always  _ different  _ than what his friends, like Jo, envisioned for their weddings. Dean wanted his to be small--only close friends and family, and  _ not  _ in a church. It wasn’t exactly the “big white wedding” people normally wanted. 

That didn’t stop him, though, from getting caught up in Jo’s excitement about her future nuptials (even if they were  _ Trevor-- _ god, Cas was going to  _ lose it  _ when Dean told him). When Dean got back to his apartment, though, he felt the melancholy settle in. He’d been using grad school as a way to avoid thinking about the niggling idea of getting engaged that hovered in the back of his mind. 

He sort of wished it wasn’t such a big deal. Dean’s idea of a perfect proposal was private, quiet, and simple, and didn’t exactly involve getting down on one knee. The moments when he thought that he wanted to spend forever with Cas were always the quiet and simple ones, when Cas made him laugh or did things like get up to go to the bathroom in the middle of the night and then rub his cold feet against Dean’s calves. Dean always jumped, and Cas always laughed, and then they would fall back asleep.  _ That  _ was the sort of moment Dean found the most romantic--not the big gestures. 

Dean hated to admit that he had no idea what he was doing, but he honestly didn’t know how to say what he wanted to say to Cas without making an enormous fool of himself. 

Since when was love this complicated?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nerd/Geek Dean is one of my favorite things to hold onto... _lady, I'm Tolstoy_


	21. December 21: Wrapping Paper

_ You  _ **_hate_ ** _ the way I open presents. I always carefully peel off the tape, and I immediately fold the paper up afterwards to reuse it. We have a whole bin of old wrapping paper under the bed, but you also insist on buying new wrapping paper. Now  _ **_that’s_ ** _ infuriating. As much as you complain about how I open presents, though, I know it’s not that bad--you once, after being plied with a lot of eggnog by Sam, admitted that you like to see “joy spread on my face” when I figure out what a gift is. So take that, Dean Winchester.  _

Well, Dean was positive now, if he wasn’t before, that Sam could  _ not  _ be trusted. Little brothers. What were they good for? 

It was actually pretty timely that Cas’s memory was wrapping-paper-related, because Dean had dragged out both his new roll of wrapping paper (maybe next year he should buy  _ two  _ new rolls, to really drive Cas nuts) and Cas’s bin of wrapping paper. After the department store the previous week, and an afternoon spent on Amazon post-crying-about-Garth-getting-engaged, Dean had quite a few presents to wrap. 

He put  _ Christmas Vacation  _ on the television, grabbed a beer out of the fridge, and settled himself on the floor in front of the couch, pushing aside the coffee table to spread out his paper, tape, scissors, and, of course, presents. A pair of nice mittens for Jess, a set of mystery novels for Sam (Dean was pretty sure Sam only listened to true crime podcasts and read mystery novels to bitch about what all the characters were doing that was “wrong” or “against procedure”), a casserole dish for his mom, some action figures for Charlie, and, of course, a  _ bee-shaped teapot  _ for Cas. Dean hadn’t known that a thing like that existed until he searched for it, but now he was  _ so  _ glad that he did. 

The wrapping didn’t take as long as he’d expected, and Dean soon found himself spread out on the couch with his third beer and some cold slices of pizza. The movie had cycled through  _ How the Grinch Stole Christmas  _ and  _ Elf,  _ and now  _ The Holiday  _ was playing. 

Dean found himself tearing up over Cameron Diaz and Kate Winslet, as Amanda and Iris, finding their true loves. He was so swept up in the story (and his Christmassy haze) that he nearly missed his phone ringing. He scrambled off the couch and found his phone in the kitchen. It was Jo.

“Hey, asshole,” she said by way of greeting when Dean picked up, “Did you know that you’re  _ late _ ?”

Dean glanced at the clock on the stove--6:05. “ _ Shit, _ ” he said into the phone, “I’ll be there by six-thirty at the latest, okay?” He hung up without waiting for an answer from Jo, but he knew that Ellen was going to have his ass. 

After pulling on a flannel he found crumpled on his bedroom floor, his work boots, and his leather jacket, Dean grabbed a hat from the hook by the door--it was dark green, Cas had made it for him--and nearly ran to the subway station. He caught the 6:15 train to the bar, and, true to his word, was standing behind the bar at 6:27, with Ellen chewing him out. 

“You better have a good excuse,” she said, and Dean briefly considered wildly inventing a tragedy before choosing to stick with the truth.

“I was watching a Nancy Meyers movie,” Dean said, dropping his eyes to the bar’s floor. Behind him, he heard Jo stifle a laugh. 

“ _ The Holiday _ ?” Ellen asked.

“Yeah.”

“Well,” Ellen smirked at him, “That’s probably enough embarrassment. But don’t be late again.”

“You got it,” Dean said, turning back to Jo, who was still laughing. “Shut up.”

“It’s cute! You like rom-coms!”

“Maybe a murder mystery would be better,” Dean said, shaking a beer glass as threatengingly as he could as he set about filling drink orders. 

“Ha. If you tried to kill me, Ellen would kill  _ you _ ,” Jo retorted.

“True.” Dean placed six beers on a tray and handed it to a waitress before turning his attention to mixing one of their rum-laden holiday cocktails for a patron at the bar. 

“Don’t worry. Everyone likes rom-coms, Dean. Especially holiday ones. We’re wired to like happy endings.” She put a hand on Dean’s shoulder, and he stopped mixing the drink for a second as he met her gaze. “You’ll get yours,” she said, “You just have to reach out and grab it.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you all SO MUCH for your nice comments!!!!
> 
> also, if you need something to tide you over, today [my lifemark bang fic](https://archiveofourown.org/works/28218228), home for the holidays, posted!


	22. December 22: Past, present, and future

_ Your dad died in late December, a few years ago. By May, you had decided it was time to leave your job as a teacher. I understood--your dad’s death had torn you up in ways you couldn’t explain. I knew that he wasn’t always a good man, but he was your dad, and I get, as much as anyone can, that familial relationships are complicated. My parents don’t really speak to me anymore, but if either of them died, I would still experience grief, albeit complicated.  _

_ It was hard to watch you go about your daily life, or try to, as the weight of your father’s passing settled on you. Therapy wasn’t covered by your teaching insurance, and it took up grading time. And you couldn’t take a lot of time off. December 27, your father died. January 4, you had to be back in the classroom. You barely had time to bury the man before you had to turn into Mr. Winchester instead of Just Dean.  _

_ And so Just Dean quit. And became a bartender. I know you think about this time a lot, a lot more than you’ll ever admit. And I wish you could see what I see: a wonderful man who is trying his best. Remember, though, that the past is only that--and I think if, in the future, you wanted to return to the classroom, you would do an amazing job. You’re just that good.  _

Dean was re-reading the memory for the sixth time. Tears were pricking his eyes, and his throat felt tight, and he wanted to not be so  _ alone  _ anymore. The apartment, normally small, warm, and cozy, was large, echoey, lifeless. He remembered the days of his last semester teaching--forcing himself to make lesson plans and grade papers, losing the thread of his lectures during class, forgetting to assign or take back homework. His students had noticed--and, when he had announced he was “moving on,” made him a giant farewell card, which was still tacked up on the inside of his closet door. 

Dean pulled himself off the couch laboriously and padded into the bedroom, opening the closet door and staring at it, a piece of yellow poster paper folded in half. He had it tacked up, though, so that it was open and the signatures could be viewed. 

_ Thank you, Mr. W, for always encouraging me to write more! _

_ Mr. W is the best! We will miss you so much! _

_ Good luck on your next adventure! <3 _

_ Thanks to your class, I like to read now! _

_ Your class was my favorite one this year! _

All nice things, all about him, but he wasn’t sure that they were true, not anymore. Dean found himself sinking onto the floor in front of the closet. 

He sat there for who knew how long, in a stupor, until his phone rang. Dean was surprised, when he went to answer it, to find that his face was covered in drying tears. As he answered with a, “Dean here,” he went into his and Cas’s bathroom. His eyes were red. 

“Hey, Dean,” Sam said, “You have a minute?”

“Got nothing but time.” Dean grabbed some toilet paper off the roll and blew his nose into it.

“I’ve been thinking about the whole graduate school thing. I think you need to just dive in head-first, you know? Plenty of schools have applications that aren’t due until January or February--”

“Who put you up to this?” Dean asked, now walking back to the living room and sitting heavily on the couch, staring at the Christmas tree in the room’s corner. 

“No one,” Sam said, “...Well, maybe Charlie and Cas texted me.”

“ _ Oh my god.  _ I told Charlie not to tell anyone!”

“...Did you tell Cas that, too?” Sam asked. “Look, Dean, Cas loves you. So much. And he wants you to be happy. We all do. So we think you should put yourself out there.”

“I dislike being ganged up on.” Dean sniffled. Was it too close to work time to have a beer?

“Maybe you deserve it.” 

“Sam, shut up.”

“Dean,” his brother’s voice was soft, not angry, “Just think about it.”

“I  _ am  _ thinking about it. But I would  _ like  _ to think about it in peace!” Dean resisted the urge to grab the television remote off the coffee table and chuck it at something. Maybe the Christmas tree. 

“Okay, okay. Just wanted to put that out there. By the way, you still need to call Mom. I know you haven’t.”

“I’ll do that, too,” Dean said, “Just as soon as you stop bugging me about it.”

Sam laughed. “Well, I have to get back to work. Talk to you later.”

“You too.” Dean hung up and stared at the carefully wrapped presents he’d placed under the tree yesterday, specifically for people he cared about. And they cared about him, too, and wanted him to be happy. But he wasn’t sure he could do it. 

_ Remember, though, that the past is only that--and I think if, in the future, you wanted to return to the classroom, you would do an amazing job. You’re just that good.  _

That was what Cas had said. And he seemed to believe it. 

There were two more days until Cas came home. Could Dean get it together enough by then to believe it himself? 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> today dean was a sad boy but! worry not! a happy ending is coming! and so is cas! two more days!


	23. December 23: Reindeer

_ Christmas with your family is a lot of fun. We’ve done it a few times--gone to your childhood home in Lawrence, Kansas and celebrated the holidays with your mom, Sam, and Jess. I’ve already mentioned that I think your mom is pretty awesome, but she also knows how to host a great Christmas. There are a lot of rituals and traditions from your childhood that you guys have held onto--making reindeer-shaped gingerbread, driving through Lawrence to see the lights, a Christmas party with you and Sam’s friends from high school...it’s always a really fun experience to have. I may be from the big city (okay, does Buffalo, New York count as the big city?) but Lawrence is great. I’m sorry we can’t go again this year because of my book tour.  _

Dean was, in fact, incredibly grateful for how well his mom and Cas got along. Mary Winchester was a strong-willed woman (you had to be, to put up with his father for as long as she did), but she doted on Cas as if he was another one of her kids. 

Maybe one day he could  _ officially  _ be part of the family, if Dean could actually cowboy up and ask him. 

Cas’s memory had reminded Dean, though--he’d promised Sam he would call his mom, and he kept forgetting. “Might as well do it now,” Dean said to himself, before fishing his phone out of his pocket and pulling himself off the couch to go stare out the living room window. There wasn’t snow, but the sky was a threatening gray, and the lights of the Christmas tree mixed with the sunless pallor seeping in through the window panes cast the apartment into an odd light. 

“Dean!” His mom answered on the first ring. “I’d been wondering if you’d forgotten about me.”

“I could never forget about you, Mom. What’s up?”

“Nothing much, really. Baking some gingerbread and honey cookies for the church, wrapping up some presents for the toy drive at the civic center...missing my boys, of course.”

Dean could imagine his mom right now, her long, blonde-but-slowly-graying curls pulled into a messy bun, in one of her kitschy aprons made by her mother Deanna (aka Dean’s namesake), probably covered in flour. “I miss you too, Mom. I’m sorry we’re not coming home.”

“Oh, don’t worry about it,” she said cheerfully, “I wouldn’t want Cas to have to return home to an empty apartment. He sent me the best picture the other day--pancakes at a brunch place he went to.”

“Of course he did. He’s been sending  _ me  _ pictures of tacos.” Dean laughed.

“Maybe it’s a hint. They say the best way to a man’s heart is through his stomach...that was true for your father.”

Mary rarely brought up John unbidden or in a positive light, so Dean decided that his mom was in a good enough mood to broach the topic. “That’s something I’ve been meaning to ask about, actually....Mom, do you think Cas and I should get married?”

“The real question is, do you  _ want  _ to get married?”

Dean paused, and then admitted, very quietly, “Yes.”

“Then my answer is yes, too. If you both love each other--which you do--and you’ve talked about a future together, I don’t see why not.” There was a sound like Mary was sitting down, and then she kept talking. “I saw how much your life changed when you met him, how much happier you became. It was like when Sam and Jess met. And he’s helped you through some hard times these past few years. What’s holding you back?”

“I just don’t know if I’m good enough for him.”

“ _ Cas  _ thinks you’re good enough for him, and that’s what really counts,” she said firmly. “Something else is on your mind, Dean-o. Spit it out.”

“...I think I want to apply to grad school.” Dean swallowed. “Charlie and Sam and Cas have all been encouraging me to and I think...I might be ready.”

“I think you’re ready, too.” Mary’s voice was soft and warm, and Dean was reminded of when he was a little kid and he would skin his knee, or when he was in middle and high school and would struggle in a class, or in college when he missed home, and his mom was always there, supporting him and encouraging him. 

“Thanks, Mom.”   


“Anytime. Well, the cookies need to go in the oven, and I only have two hands, so I have to go. Will you and Cas call me on Christmas?”

“Of course. Love you.”

“Love you too.” Mary hung up, and Dean was left with a smile on his face. 

He had an idea of another Christmas present he could give Cas. Cas, who would, at long last, be back tomorrow. 

Cas, the love of his life. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SECOND TO LAST CHAPTER!!! tomorrow's chapter is going to be REALLY long and I am VERY excited for y'all to finally read the conclusion to this story! thank you for all the support ^_^


	24. December 24: I'll be home for Christmas

Dean woke up on Christmas Eve with a ton of nervous excitement. He’d spent the previous afternoon before work putting the last-minute finishing touches on Christmas gifts and cleaning the apartment (not that it had gotten that messy), and now Cas was  _ finally  _ coming home. 

Dean eagerly headed to the kitchen to make coffee and read the last memory from the Advent calendar. The piece of paper in the little door seemed smaller than usual, but Dean paid it no mind and popped the last piece of chocolate in his mouth before unfolding the paper. 

_ I’m hoping we’ll make this memory tonight when I get home :) _

Dean stared at the paper, his mouth falling open. If Sam or Charlie were here, they would  _ totally  _ be making fun of him. But what did Cas mean?

His flight was supposed to come in at one pm, so Dean tried to work off his now-even-more-nervous energy by showering and putting on  _ Home Alone  _ while he started to clean the apartment  _ again.  _ He was just getting the broom out when his phone dinged. It was a text from Cas.

_ my connecting flight from atlanta to chicago is delayed :(  _

_ til when?  _ Dean sent back, feeling his chest tighten.

_ new arrival time is four pm. i’ll update you when i know more.  _ A moment, and then Cas sent another message.  _ i’m sorry. _

Dean abandoned the text conversation and called Cas, who was clearly watching his phone and picked up immediately. 

“You don’t have to be sorry,” Dean started, “It’s not your fault the flight is delayed.”

“I know, I just…” Cas sounded a little bit like he might cry, “I just want to get home.”

“And you will,” Dean said in a voice that he hoped was soothing, pushing away his own anxieties for a moment. “Don’t worry about it, sweetheart.”

“I’ll do my best.”

“Go buy an overpriced snack from the airport coffee shop or something,” Dean said. “I’ll still be here, waiting for you, whenever you get back.”

“Okay.” Cas sounded a little bit more calm. 

“Be safe,” Dean added, “Love you.”

“Love you more.” Cas hung up, and Dean stared at his phone. 

God, how was he going to be able to wait?

\-----------------------

The next text from Cas came at one pm, when Dean was  _ supposed  _ to be at the airport, finally getting to hug the bastard again. Dean was sprawled out on the couch eating cold pizza and halfway watching a Hallmark Christmas movie that he didn’t know the name of. He yanked himself out of his stupor and read the message. 

_ delayed again. _

Dean’s heart sank as he messaged Cas back.  _ until when? _

_ seven pm.  _

_ you’re kidding.  _

_ i wish i was.  _ Cas was, as he texted, likely staring at a departure board and frowning. 

_ see this is why i never fly,  _ Dean replied, trying to add some levity that he didn’t feel to the situation. 

_ ha ha, dean, very funny.  _

_ it’ll be okay,  _ Dean texted.  _ you’ll get here eventually. _

_ right. _

Dean didn’t want to tell Cas, but he felt just as discouraged as his boyfriend did, like all of the holiday cheer was leaking out of him the longer he had to wait to see Cas. 

Ugh.

\-----------------------

Dean’s phone rang at five pm, and when he picked up the call, instead of saying  _ hi _ he started with, “Shouldn’t you be on an airplane?”

“Yes,” Cas replied, “I  _ should _ , but I’m not, because we finally got on the plane and then the crew was having ‘ _ technical issues’ _ \--” Dean could envision the air quotes Cas was probably using, “--so now we have to wait for another plane, which means we’re not leaving until eight, which means I won’t be back until ten at the earliest and--”

“Woah, woah, slow down,” Dean said, “Deep breaths, Cas. Why don’t you get some dinner somewhere? Or at least eat  _ something _ , and we can get takeout when you get here. Please try not to freak out.”

“I  _ am  _ trying,” Cas replied petulantly. 

“I know, I know. Just--I’m not mad, okay? I mean, I’m sad I can’t see you sooner, but it’s  _ alright _ .” Dean desperately wished he could hug Cas. 

“Well, I’m mad,” Cas said, his voice quiet.

“Please don’t fight a flight attendant.”

“I won’t.”

Dean laughed. “Okay, I believe you. I’ll see you at ten.”

“I hope.” Cas ended the call, and Dean sighed, running a hand through his hair. Yeah, this sucked. 

\-----------------------

Cas’s flight finally left on time, per texts from Cas, and so Dean headed to the airport as scheduled, his stomach full of anxiety and nerves. At least he would finally get to see him, even if it was nine hours after he was supposed to arrive.

By ten fifteen, though, there was still no sign of Cas at the baggage claim, and he wasn’t responding to Dean’s text messages. Dean tried calling, and when that didn’t work, he went up to one of the ticket counters. 

“Are you looking to buy a ticket?” The woman at the counter asked, and Dean shook his head, bracing himself. He didn’t normally “come out” to strangers.

“My partner, he...he was supposed to be on...here,” Dean showed the woman (her name tag said “Donna”) a picture of Cas’s newest boarding pass that Cas had sent him. “United Airlines flight 2438.”

“Service from Atlanta to Chicago?” Donna typed some things into her computer. “Ah, it says here that the flight has arrived...I can call the gate, if you’d like?”

“That would be great,” Dean said. He stood there and tapped his foot, feeling enormously self-conscious, as Donna talked on the phone. 

“Yes, flight 2438?...Oh, that’s...Alright...hopefully only fifteen minutes?...Great, thank you.” She hung up and turned back to Dean. “There was a man that had to be removed from the aircraft for disorderly behavior, but it should be only fifteen more minutes until everyone else can get off the plane.”

“Thank you,” Dean said, relief flooding through him, “Thank you so much.”

“Merry Christmas, sir.”

“Merry Christmas to you, too.” 

Sure enough, the baggage from the flight started arriving at baggage claim and cycling through the conveyor belt about fifteen minutes later. Dean spied Cas’s suitcase, which was black and had a luggage tag on it shaped like a bumblebee, and snagged it. He hadn’t seen Cas yet, though. He kept his eye trained on the escalators. Eventually, he saw the familiar mop of dark hair and then Cas’s gaze was on him. 

“You got my suitcase,” Cas said as soon as he got to Dean, wrapping his arms around him.

“Gee,” Dean said, “I was hoping for a  _ hello  _ or something.”

Cas looked at him with a tired smile. “Hello, Dean.” 

“Let’s go home.”

The subway was quiet--it was ten thirty at night on Christmas Eve, after all--but Dean didn’t mind. Cas rested his head on Dean’s shoulder and yawned. 

“How about we get Thai food?” Dean suggested. 

“That,” Cas yawned again, “Would be great.”

“If you can stay up long enough, that is.”

“I’m not sleepy.” Cas sat up. “See?”

“Uh-huh.” Dean took Cas’s hand in his own, just happy that he could be this close to Cas again. 

When they got back to the apartment, Dean ordered the food while Cas went straight to the bathroom. Once the food was ordered, Dean set about making both of them hot cider--with a little bit of bourbon in it, of course. He heard footsteps coming up behind him, and then Cas was wrapping his arms around Dean’s middle and settling his chin on Dean’s shoulder.

“Heya,” Dean said, unscrewing the cap of the bourbon bottle. “Miss me?”

“Of course.” Cas turned his head, pressed a soft kiss to Dean’s jaw. “I have a question.”

“Hmm?” 

“I was going to suggest that we go out to dinner when I got back, and do this properly, but…” Cas tightened his grip on Dean. “This is better, I think. More true to  _ us _ .”

“Does this have anything to do with the memory you wanted to make today?” Dean set the bourbon bottle down and pulled Cas off of him enough to turn and face him. He let Cas press him back into the counter. 

“Yeah.” Cas swallowed and then looked downwards. “I was just wondering…”

“Hey, c’mere.” Dean held Cas close. “Whatever you’re about to say, I’m not gonna react badly.”

“I know,” Cas’s voice was muffled by Dean’s flannel, “I’m just nervous.” 

“You can whisper it.” Dean’s heart was in his throat, though. Was Cas about to say what he thought Cas was about to say?

“Okay.” Cas pulled his head back, tilted it up to kiss Dean, soft and gentle, before saying against Dean’s mouth, “Will you marry me?”

Dean started laughing. 

“What?” Cas pulled away, bewildered, “What did I do wrong?” 

Dean coughed and reigned himself in. “You didn’t do anything wrong, I just--yes.  _ Yes.  _ Of course.” He yanked Cas back towards him. “A thousand times yes.”

“Good.” Cas kissed him again. “I did get a ring, by the way. But it’s still in my suitcase. I started freaking out.”

“You’re not the only one,” Dean said, “I’ve been thinking about this for ages...especially since you left. Look, I’ve got something for you--not as big, and it’s not your actual present, but--just a sec.” Dean pulled away from Cas and went to the living room. He grabbed an envelope off of the coffee table and went back to the kitchen, where Cas was pouring the bourbon into the cider mugs for him. “Here,” Dean said, handing it to Cas. 

Cas opened it slowly and pulled out the six printouts that Dean had stuffed in the envelope. He looked at the papers, and then up at Dean, and then back down. “No way,” Cas breathed out, “Really?”

“Really.” The envelope was full of grad school applications. “I mean, I have to actually fill them out online, but I just...wanted you to see that I’m trying. For real.”

“You’ve always tried for real.” Cas smiled at him, broadly, and Dean thought his heart might burst. 

\-----------------------

They slept until eleven am on Christmas morning. 

Dean woke slowly, with the sun streaming in through their bedroom window, and smiled. Cas had an arm wrapped around him, his breath gentle on the back of Dean’s neck. Dean rolled over slowly to face Cas and pressed a feather-light kiss to Cas’s cheek. “Wake up, sunshine,” Dean said softly, “It’s Christmas.”

Cas yawned and blinked open his eyes slowly. He smiled, his eyes crinkling up. “Merry Christmas, Dean.”

A lot of great things were going to happen to Dean today. Unbeknownst to him, snow had fallen in the night, blanketing Chicago in glittering white. Cas was going to love the bumblebee teapot and the penguin knitting kit, and Sam was going to cry when they video chatted him about the engagement. (Charlie was going to sarcastically say  _ about time, huh?  _ but then tear up, too.) Cas was going to smile the biggest smile when Dean showed him that he’d been keeping all the memories in the drawer of his bedside table, as if Cas had been with him all along. His mom was going to be thrilled at the news, and then she was going to admit that she knew all along that Cas was going to propose--he’d asked her permission, which she had gladly given.

And Dean?   


Dean was going to be very happy, and it was going to be the kind of happiness that lasted. 

For now, though, Dean was content to be here, in this moment, warm underneath the comforter with his fiance, home in a way he hadn’t been for the past twenty-four days.

A merry Christmas, indeed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the final chapter! I was so excited to share this ending with y'all--a bunch of you guessed it, but that's okay with me, because I was here to write a fluffy story :) thank you for all the support and nice comments, and I hope all of y'all that celebrate Christmas have a very merry one! <3 <3 <3


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